'De 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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"surely,"  hk  said,  "a  heart  like  yours." 


AT  THE  RED  GLOVE 


:l  l^omi 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  C.  S.  REmHART 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    FRANKLIN    SQUARE 

1885 


Copyright,  1885,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 

M  rights  reserved. 


PR 

497/ 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAOB 

"  SURELY,"  HE    SAID,  "  A    HEART    LIKE    YOURS  " FrOUtispiece 

SHE   PUT    ONE    HAND    ON    HER    BOSOM 33 

"  GOOD-MORNING,  MADEMOISELLE,"  SAID    LOIGEROT 51 

THE    CAPTAIN    LEANED    FORWARD    AND    LOOKED    IMPORTANT         ....  57 

MADAME    BOBINKAU    KEPT    THE  SOFT  GOLDEN-BROWN  HAND  IN    HER   LEAN 

GRASP 69 

THERE    WAS    A    HELPLESS,  APPEALING    LOOK    IN    HIS    BLUE    ETES     ...  97 

"stand    still,  CHILD,  WHILE    I    MEASURE    YOUR    SKIRT " 117 

THE    GALLANT    CAPTAIN    WAS    EAGER    TO    SEE    MARIE's    DELIGHT       .       .       .  137 

"are    you    TRYING    TO    MAKE    ME    RUN    AWAY?" 171 

AFTER   A    WHILE   SHE    LOOKED    UP 187 

"  WHAT    DOES    THIS    MEAN  ?"  HE    SAID    AT    LAST 223 

"MADAME,  I    THANK   YOU  " 243 


.(joO  /  Si 


PROLOGUE. 

It  is  noonday  in  June  in  one  of  tlie  old  towns  of  Southern 
France.  A  girl  stands  beside  a  fountain  in  tlie  middle  of  a  grass- 
grown  square.  She  is  tall,  and  although  her  shabby  old  clothes  are 
badly  made  they  reveal  a  beautiful  figure.  Her  face  and  head  are 
hidden  by  the  bright  orange  kerchief  that  shields  her  from  the 
scorching  sunshine ;  but  her  movements  are  full  of  languid  grace  as 
she  places  her  tall  brown  pitcher  beneath  the  spout  of  the  fountain. 

"Mon  Dieu,"  she  says,  impatiently,  "the  heat  stifles  me." 

The  square  is  like  an  oven,  the  very  stones  smell  as  if  they  were 
baking;  the  persiennes  of  the  houses  that  border  the  square  are  all 
closed,  there  is  not  so  much  as  a  cab  stirring.  Surely  every  one  is 
asleep !  No !  behind  one  pair  of  green  barred  shutters  a  pair  of 
small  eyes  greedily  note  the  perfection  of  the  girl's  figure  and  the 
languid  grace  with  which  she  leans  against  the  old  fountain.  Her 
orange  kerchief  casts  so  deep  a  shadow  that  the  concealed  observer 
cannot  make  out  her  face,  but  he  feels  sure  it  is  handsome.  He 
watches  her  lift  the  pitcher  away  from  the  slender  trickle  of  water 
she  has  set  flowing,  and  he  sees  that  when  she  perceives  how  heavy 
it  is,  she  stamps  impatiently  on  the  burning  pebbles  and  pours  some 
of  the  water  away. 

The  unseen  gazer  smiles ;  he  knows  how  scarce  water  is  in  the  old 
southern  town.  He  stands  watching  till  the  girl  places  the  pitcher 
on  her  head  and  moves  slowly  out  of  sight. 

The  big,  full-fed  looking  man  who  has  watched  her  rubs  his  hands 
together,  his  small  eyes  are  twinkling  with  satisfaction.  He  turns 
away  from  the  window  of  the  eating -room,  where  the  flies  buzz 
noisily  on  the  pane,  and  rings  for  the  waiter.  That  worthy  is  asleep, 
his  napkin  over  his  head  to  keep  the  flies  away,  but  the  bell  rouses 
him  from  his  nap,  he  whisks  the  napkin  from  his  ugly  face,  and 
stands  obsequiously  bowing  before  Monsieur  Carouge. 

Monsieur  is  an  adroit  questioner;  he  has  soon  set  the  waiter  talk- 
ing about  all  he  wanted  to  know. 


8  mOLOGUE. 

"Elvire,  la  belle  Elvire?  oh  yes,"  the  waiter  says,  with  a  smirk; 
"she  and  her  mother  are  very  poor — monsieur  cannot  guess  how 
poor  they  are.  Her  father  was  a  noble — yes,  once  upon  a  time  he  was 
Marquis  de —  I  have  forgotten  the  title,  monsieur,"  he  goes  on, 
with  a  careless  whisk  of  his  napkin,  "  but  he  lodged  in  an  old  farm- 
house in  the  environs.  At  last  he  married  the  farmer's  young  daugh- 
ter, and  soon  left  her  a  widow  with  this  one  child,  Elvire.  Well, 
monsieur,  soon  after  this  the  farmer  had  a  fit  and  died,  and  then  it 
came  out  that  he  was  insolvent.  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  however,  had 
left  just  money  enough  to  keep  his  \vidow  and  her  child  from  beg- 
gary; but  as  I  say,  monsieur  cannot  guess  how  poor  they  are.  Mon 
Dieu,"  he  gives  another  contemptuous  flick  with  his  napkin,  "many 
a  beggar  fares  better  than  they  do. " 

"Don't  they  try  to  earn  a  living?"  said  Carouge. 

The  waiter  shrugs  his  shoulders.  ' '  They  might  do  so,  monsieur, 
but  they  are  proud.  Not  so  long  ago  a  restaurant-keeper  at  Mar- 
seilles happened  to  be  here,  and  he  saw  Elvire  as  you  saw  her.  Well, 
monsieur,  he  spoke  to  the  mistress,  and  he  made  quite  a  liberal  oifer 
for  that  girl  as  demoiselle  de  comptoir;  he  offered,  too,  to  find  work 
for  the  mother.  Pouf !"  he  snapped  his  fingers,  "  they  refused  to  lis- 
ten to  the  message.  Madame  Fontaine  told  our  mistress  that  she 
had  promised  her  husband  before  he  died  that  whatever  she  might 
have  to  do,  Elvire  should  never  work  for  her  living;  and,"  the  gar- 
9on  added,  with  a  laugh,  "the  girl  kept  her  mother  up  to  her 
promise." 

"  But  I  saw  her  drawing  water  just  now,"  says  Monsieur  Carouge. 

The  waiter  gives  a  sly,  sleepy  smile.  "Elvire  will  do  that,  mon- 
sieur," he  says,  "and  it  gives  her  some  change,  and  she  likes  to  be 
admired;  but  in-doors  it  is  different;  she  will  not  cook  or  clean,  her 
mother  has  told  me  so.  She  says,  '  It  is  the  noble  blood  which  can- 
not lie.' "  Here  the  waiter  jerks  his  thumb  in  a  contemptuous  fash- 
ion, and  Monsieur  Carouge  smiles. 

"You  seem  to  be  acquainted  with  Madame  Fontaine,"  he  said; 
"will  you  let  her  know  that  a  gentleman  wishes  to  call  on  her  this 
evening  on  business  matters?" 

The  waiter  looks  inquisitive,  but  Monsieur  Carouge  begins  to 
light  a  fresh  cigar. 

In  the  evening  the  waiter  guided  him  to  the  top  of  a  narrow,  dirty 
street,  with  tumble-down  looking  houses  on  each  side  of  it ;  then, 
after  learning  that  the  number  was  twenty-five,  and  the  room  he 


PROLOGUE.  9 

was  in  search  of  a  quatrieme,  Monsieur  Carouge  was  left  to  find  his 
way.  It  was  nearly  dark,  but  Carouge  could  see  that  the  staircase  of 
No.  25  was  horribly  dirty.  When  after  knocking  he  was  admitted 
into  a  miserably  furnished  room,  his  eyes  were  riveted  by  the  beau- 
ty of  the  girl,  who  stood  like  a  perfect  statue  seemingly  indifferent 
to  his  presence. 

There  was  still  light  enough  to  see  her  face  and  her  splendid  dark 
eyes  half  shadowed  by  their  long  lashes. 

Carouge  told  the  mother  that  he  believed  he  had  had  some  acquaint- 
ance with  her  late  husband,  and  that,  as  he  was  going  on  to  Paris, 
he  would  be  glad  to  execute  any  commission  with  which  she  might 
honor  him. 

Madame  Fontaine  stared  at  him,  and  then  began  to  pour  out  her 
troubles  in  a  manner  which  assured  him  of  that  which  he  had 
guessed  from  her  face,  namely,  that  she  was  grasping  as  well  as  poor, 
and  that  she  would  not  be  difficult  to  deal  with.  He  saw  that  the 
girl's  pride  was  roused  by  his  visit,  and  he  made  it  very  brief.  "  If 
madame  will  permit  me,"  he  said,  "  I  will  repeat  my  visit  as  I  re- 
turn;" then  he  made  a  low  bow — "with  the  permission,  also,  of 
mademoiselle."  He  thought  the  girl  looked  like  a  disguised  princess 
as  she  just  bent  her  head  in  return.  Carouge  smiled  to  himself  as 
he  went  down  the  filthy  staircase. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  thought,  "she's  not  angry  with  me;  she's  only 
mad  that  I  should  see  her  in  such  a  hole  and  in  such  a  gown — only 
fit  for  a  rag-picker.  She  will  let  her  mother  sell  her,  and  the  mother 
will  ask  a  good  price,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  rubbed  his  fat 
ringed  fingers  together. 

It  was  quite  by  chance  that  he  had  stopped  in  this  old  town,  and 
he  had  originally  had  no  intention  of  returning  to  it;  but  he  could 
npt  get  rid  of  the  vision  of  Elvire;  he  had  to  stay  a  fortnight  in 
Paris,  and  he  found  himself  hardly  able  to  bear  the  delay.  At  last 
he  was  free;  he  had  bought  everything  he  thought  likely  to  please 
Elvire,  and  before  he  repeated  his  visit  he  sent  his  gifts. 

To  her  mother  Elvire  at  first  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
these  beautiful  things ;  but  Carouge  had  been  careful  to  include  a 
mirror  among  his  gifts,  and  when  the  girl  had  seen  herself  in  one 
of  the  elegant  dresses  he  had  provided,  she  consented  to  wear  it. 
Carouge  called  again  and  was  infatuated;  he  had  not  thought  she 
was  so  beautiful.  In  the  self-respect  that  came  to  Elvire  when  she 
discarded  her  shabby  clothes,  the  cloud  of  brooding  discontent  left 


10  PKOLOGUE. 

her  face — she  was  gracious,  smiling  even,  but  she  would  not  thank 
her  benefactor;  he  had  done  it  for  her  mother,  she  said,  and  she 
might  thank  him. 

Before  he  left  the  house,  Carouge  asked  for  a  few  moments  alone 
with  Madame  Fontaine.  He  had  already  discovered  that  she  was  as 
ignorant  and  uncivilized  as  her  daughter  was  charming.  He  felt 
that  he  could  speak  without  reserve. 

"I  wish  to  marry  your  daughter,"  he  cried,  "and  I  do  not  wish 
to  lose  any  time  about  it  if  you  will  authorize  me  to  execute  the 
necessary  formalities.  I  suppose  the  marriage  can  take  place  in  a 
week;  if  not,  I  am  afraid  I  must  give  it  up,  as  my  business  calls 
me  home." 

Madame  Fontaine  stared,  and  said  something  about  Elvire.  Ca- 
rouge smiled.  "  You  can  tell  your  daughter,"  he  said,  "that  I  offer 
her  a  luxurious  home,  plenty  of  dresses  and  jewellery,  and  a  kind 
husband,  who  will  try  to  make  her  life  as  pleasant  and  happy  as  pos- 
sible ;  if  you  succeed  in  persuading  her,"  he  said,  with  emphasis, 
"you  shall  have  for  yourself,  for  the  rest  of  your  life,  one  hundred 
francs  a  month,  with  the  understanding  that  you  keep  away  from 
your  daughter." 

Then  he  said  good-day,  and  left  her  to  reflect  on  his  proposal. 

Madame  Fontaine  earned  her  pension  easily.  Elvire  was  as  indo- 
lent as  he  was  by  nature  luxurious.  She  craved  ardently  for  ease 
and  comfort,  as  well  as  for  all  that  makes  life  beautiful;  and  though 
she  was  only  nineteen,  she  was  already  aware  that  money  could  give 
her  all  that  she  wanted.  To  her  savage,  undeveloped  nature  poverty 
meant  all  that  was  hard,  hideous,  and  disgraceful,  and  she  felt  grate- 
ful to  Monsieur  Carouge  for  his  offer.  The  marriage  was  soon  ar- 
ranged. Directly  it  was  over,  Carouge  and  his  bride  started  for 
Berne.  He  was  a  little  troubled  by  the  joy  with  which  Elvire  said 
good-bye  to  her  squalid  home  and  to  her  mother;  but  he  soon  forgot 
this,  and  when  he  at  last  brought  his  prize  to  the  dainty  nest  he  had 
provided  for  her,  a  few  miles  out  of  Berne,  her  delight  in  the  fresh 
glitter  of  her  surroundings  charmed  him.  It  seemed  to  Elvire  that 
she  had  foimd  all  she  wished  for  in  these  showily  furnished  rooms 
where  she  could  see  herself  reflected  from  head  to  foot  in  tall  mir- 
rors, and  lounge  away  the  day  on  soft  couches,  or,  if  she  pleased, 
wander  in  a  charming  garden  full  of  flowers. 

But  there  was  more  than  this:  there  was  a  steady,  silent,  middle- 
aged  woman,  half  companion,  half  maid,  to  relieve  her  of  every 


PROLOGUE.  11 

trouble,  and  Carouge  constantly  brought  home  some  new  present  to 
his  beautiful  idol. 

She  was  to  him  a  lovely  doll,  who  amused  him  by  her  gentle, 
pleasant  talk,  pleased  him  by  her  gratitude,  and  charmed  his  eyes  by 
her  beauty  and  the  supple  grace  of  her  movements.  He  did  not 
trouble  himself  about  anything  else.  He  told  her  that  he  was  the 
proprietor  of  an  hotel  in  Berne,  but  this  only  interested  her  in 
connection  with  the  dainty  dishes  and  excellent  wines  he  constantly 
brought  home  from  this  Hotel  Beauregard.  She  seemed  utterly  in- 
curious about  the  world  beyond  her  garden.  Carouge  congratulated 
himself  on  having  secured  such  a  prize,  and  as  months  rolled  by  the 
peace  of  his  life  seemed  secure.  The  truth  was  that  Elvire  had  tired 
long  ago  of  his  idolatry,  but  she  felt  that  she  owed  this  new  life  en- 
tirely to  him,  and  she  resolved  not  to  lose  her  position  by  her  own 
fault.  Something  warned  her  that  Carouge  would  be  very  severe  if 
she  disobeyed  him ;  so  she  kept  within  the  garden,  which  was  large 
enough  to  afford  her  a  good  deal  of  exercise,  as  she  was  by  nature 
too  indolent  to  care  for  a  long  walk. 

Twice  he  drove  her  closely  veiled  into  Berne,  but  he  took  care  to 
choose  a  dull  time  of  the  year  for  these  visits,  and  after  the  second 
Elvire  said  it  was  a  quiet,  uninteresting  place,  and  that  she  did  not 
wish  to  be  taken  there  again. 

Meantune  she  grew  every  day  more  beautiful.  But  all  transition 
periods  must  come  to  an  end.  Her  tirst  ambitions  being  satisfied, 
other  desires  began  to  germinate  in  Elvire.  Their  growth  made  her 
restless.  Instead  of  lying  for  hours  on  her  delicious  sofa,  she  passed 
up  and  down  with  impatient  steps.  The  room  seemed  to  have  be- 
come small  and  confined;  she  spent  most  of  her  time  in  the  garden, 
often  peering  through  the  iron  gate,  wondering  what  was  happening 
in  the  world  outside.  She  was  ashamed  of  her  discontent,  and  she 
said  nothing  to  Carouge,  but  he  soon  remarked  that  she  had  lost 
her  spirits. 

He  questioned  the  duenna,  for  he  could  see  that  Elvire  was  not  ill. 

"She  wants  change,"  the  woman  said,  "the  sameness  tires  her." 

Carouge  shook  his  head. 

"  You  are  imbecile, "  he  said ; ' '  how  can  I  give  her  change  ?  I  can- 
not leave  my  business.  Why  don't  you  get  her  some  fancy  needle- 
work, something  that  will  interest  her.  What  is  the  use,  if,"  he 
added,  savagely — "if  you  can't  keep  a  girl  like  that  amused." 

The  remedy  was  tried,  but  it  failed.     Elvire  amused  herself  for 

1* 


13  PROLOGUE. 

an  hour  or  two  in  examining  the  work  and  admiring  the  colors  of 
the  embroidery  sillis;  but  she  did  not  like  needle-work,  and  said  so. 

She  became  more  and  more  silent  and  absent,  and  at  last  one  even- 
ing Carouge  said,  abniptly,  "  What  ails  you,  child?" 

Elvire  fixed  her  dark,  liquid  eyes  on  his  face,  her  cheeks  glowed 
till  he  thought  they  looked  like  nectarines. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you?"  she  said,  gi-avely. 

"Yes,  little  one;"  but  he  was  startled  by  the  new  expression  he 
met  in  her  eyes. 

Elvire  had  already  rehearsed  this  scene;  she  knew  it  must  come, 
and  she  knew  what  she  wanted  to  say,  but  she  could  hardly  get  her 
words  out. 

He  waited  patiently. 

At  last,  abruptly,  almost  harshly,  she  said,  "I  want  to  live  in 
Berne,  to  see  other  people,  to  do  as  they  do." 

An  oath  burst  from  Carouge,  but  the  girl  turned  so  pale  that  he 
forced  a  smile. 

"  Why,  my  angel,  do  I  not  make  you  happy  here?" 

She  looked  at  him  gratefully,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"You  have  been  very  good  to  me,  but  you  are  not  always  here. 
I  am  alone  all  day,  and  I — I  want  to  see  other  ladies.  I  want  to  see 
if  I  am  like  them.  I  can  only  read  and  write ;  ladies  can  do  many 
other  things!" 

"They  do  many  things  best  left  undone,"  he  said,  brutally.  "You 
are  quite  clever  enough  for  me;  I  like  you  as  you  are." 

Elvire  rose  and  stood  before  him,  her  eyes  flashing,  her  bosom 
heaving  with  roused  passion. 

"  I  belong  to  myself  as  well  as  to  you,"  she  said:  "I  am  not  clever 
enough  for  myself!  How  can  I  know  anything  while  I  live  cooped 
up  like  a  slave?" 

Carouge  swore  fiercely. 

"A  wife  has  only  got  to  please  her  husband,"  he  said,  doggedly; 
"it  is  my  pleasure  that  you  stay  here." 

He  thought  that  she  would  burst  out  crying,  and  that  he  should 
pacify  her  by  the  promise  of  a  new  gown  or  a  trinket;  but  to  his 
surprise  she  turned  away  proudly  and  in  silence. 

For  a  whole  week  she  pouted  in  his  presence,  and  cried  passion- 
ately when  she  was  alone ;  but  Carouge  remained  obstinate.  At  the 
end  of  ten  days  his  young  wife  had  become  pale  and  thin,  and  there 
was  a  desperate  look  in  her  eyes.     Carouge  became  frightened;  he 


PROLOGUE.  13 

had  expected  she  would  yield,  and  proposed  a  compromise:  Elvire 
must  continue  to  live  at  the  villa  in  the  same  secluded  way  as  be- 
fore, but  a  very  old  and  deaf  professor  should  come  out  from  Berne 
and  teach  her  all  she  wanted  to  learn. 

Elvire's  gratitude  delighted  her  husband.  She  took  a  liking  to 
the  kind  old  professor,  and  for  about  two  years  she  worked  hard  at 
the  studies  he  marked  out  for  her  guidance.  He  brought  her  books 
and  showed  her  how  to  use  them — books  of  history  and  travel,  and 
some  carefully  chosen  biographies.  Carouge  had  been  firm  on  one 
point:  he  had  forbidden  the  professor  to  give  his  pupil  any  love- 
stories.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  such  subjects  will  occasion- 
ally trespass  into  history. 

Elvire  proved  wonderfully  apt ;  she  learned  to  speak  and  to  write 
correctly,  she  took  pleasure  in  the  old-fashioned  knowledge  her 
master  taught. 

But  there  was  one  great  drawback  to  the  happiness  produced  by 
this  mental  cultivation.  Although  it  subdued  her  restlessness  and 
filled  her  mind  with  new  thoughts,  she  soon  discovered  that  her  hus- 
band was  coarser  and  less  congenial  than  she  had  thought  him.  He 
had  no  sympathy  with  her  studies,  and  she  felt  it  a  hardship  to  be 
obliged  to  put  away  her  books  when  he  came  in.  Carouge  was  not 
sensitive,  but  her  indifference  mortified  him ;  and  when  the  old  pro- 
fessor died  he  openly  rejoiced. 

"I'll  have  no  more  teaching  here,"  he  said.  "You  can  teach 
yourself  if  you  want  to  learn  any  more ;  but  I  think  you  know  quite 
enough." 

Elvire  was  very  angry,  but  this  time  Carouge  remained  obstinate. 
At  first  she  gave  up  her  studies,  in  the  hope  of  making  her  husband 
yield  to  her  wish  for  another  teacher;  but  very  soon  she  went  back 
to  her  indolent  do-nothing  ways,  and  rarely  opened  one  of  her 
books. 

"I  wish  I  could  sleep  life  away,"  she  said,  despairingly.  The 
house  was  no  longer  in  her  eyes  a  dainty,  furnished  nest;  it  had 
become  a  prison,  and  Carouge  was  her  jailer. 

Usually  she  was  quiet  with  him,  answering  only  when  spoken  to ; 
but  lately  she  had  twice  shown  her  husband  that  she  had  a  violent 
temper  and  a  stubborn  will.  The  first  time  she  told  him  he  had  no 
right  to  keep  her  cooped  up  like  a  nun,  and  the  last  time  he  remon- 
strated with  her  on  her  quiet,  dull  manner,  she  said  she  would  run 
away  and  go  back  to  her  mother,  and  see  with  her  own  eyes  whether 


14  PROLOGUE. 

men  and  women  were  as  uninteresting  as  he  said  they  were.  Carouge 
was  terribly  puzzled;  suddenly  he  remembered  how  absorbed  she 
had  formerly  been  in  her  studies.  He  wished  now  he  had  allowed 
her  to  continue  them,  for  he  certainly  had  reaped  no  advantage  from 
their  cessation;  she  had  become  far  more  indifferent  to  him  since 
the  professor's  death.  He  went  into  a  bookseller's,  bought  her  sev- 
eral volumes  which  the  shopman  told  him  were  educational,  and 
took  them  home  that  evening  to  Elvire.  She  looked  at  them,  but 
although  she  thanked  him  she  said  her  taste  for  reading  was  over. 

Fortunately  for  Carouge  there  came  a  spell  of  rainy  weather,  and 
one  morning  Elvire  opened  a  book  of  travel.  She  soon  became  in- 
terested, and  at  the  end  of  a  few  weeks  she  asked  her  husband  to 
bring  her  more  books.  He  was  delighted;  she  had  become  gentler, 
and  the  sombre,  clouded  expression  had  left  her  eyes. 

He  was  wise  enough  to  understand  that  this  newly  awakened 
taste  must  be  encouraged  if  he  wished  to  keep  his  beautiful,  un- 
manageable wife  quiet.  He  need  not,  however,  have  feared  that  the 
wilful  beauty  would  have  attempted  to  run  away.  Whenever  a 
wild  idea  of  flight  suggested  itself,  a  double  motive  checked  it. 

Elvire  thought  it  would  be  foolish  to  risk  so  much  comfort  and  a 
certain  sort  of  enjoyment  for  a  mere  whim;  for  something  warned 
her  that  Monsieur  Carouge  would  never  forgive  such  an  act  of  dis- 
obedience, and  also,  she  thought,  it  would  be  very  ungrateful  to  grieve 
and  disobey  him.  With  all  his  fondness,  Carouge  had  inspired  her 
with  a  very  restraining  fear  of  him.  If  he  were  to  cast  her  off,  she 
must  either  go  back  to  her  mother,  to  her  shabby  clothes  and  scanty 
food,  or  she  must  work  to  earn  her  living — and  this  idea  was  almost 
more  repulsive  than  the  other. 

If  Carouge  had  been  wise  he  would  have  stuck  to  solid  books  in 
his  catering.  Unluckily  he  had  a  great  admiration  for  English 
women— he  thought  them  simple  and  modest;  the  books  they  read 
could  not  surely  hurt  Elvire.  So  one  day  he  came  home  in  a  very 
gay  mood. 

"  See,  my  angel,"  he  said, "  I  have  brought  you  a  present.  When 
I  was  young,  some  thirty  years  ago,  these  pretty  gilded  little  books 
were  left  at  the  Beauregard  by  an  English  miss.  My  father  told  me 
to  keep  them  till  they  were  claimed,  but  they  have  never  been  asked 
for.     So  there  they  are ;  they  are  yours,  my  beauty. " 

Elvire  admired  the  dainty  little  volumes.  She  looked  at  their  titles : 
"Paul  ct  Virginie,"  "Mathilde,"  "  Atala."     "  Ah,  what  is  this?"— 


PROLOGUE.  15 

she  took  up  two  tiay  books  in  white  vellum  bindings — "  'Caroline 
de  Lichfield.'  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "  I  believe  this  is  a  story,  and 
I  have  read  few  stories.  I  shall  be  sure  to  like  this  one,  the  out- 
side is  so  pretty." 

As  she  read  the  little  old  -  fashioned  love  -  tale,  a  new  sensation 
wakened  in  Elvire.  What  was  this  love,  so  tender  and  yet  so  pass- 
ing—  this  strange  power  which  produced  in  one  character  self- 
sacrifice  and  in  another  self-love?  She  was  troubled,  fevered,  ab- 
sorbed, but  she  could  not  take  her  eyes  from  the  little  dainty  pages, 
over  which  hovered  a  faint  perfume  of  ottar  of  roses. 

Carouge  came  home  earlier  than  usual,  but  Elvire  did  not  come  to 
the  door  in  answer  to  his  summons.  He  hurried  into  the  garden, 
and  found  her  lying  on  the  grass,  absorbed  in  her  book.  She  started 
up ;  her  face  was  flushed  and  excited.  She  stared  at  him  with  dreamy 
eyes. 

Carouge  burst  out  laughing. 

"Have  I  roused  you  from  sleep,  my  child?  I'm  afraid  the  book 
isn't  a  lively  one  if  it  sends  you  to  sleep.     Let  me  see  it." 

Elvire  smiled,  but  she  held  the  book  fast. 

Through  the  evening  Carouge  was  charmed  by  her  gentle,  pensive 
manner.  Next  day,  and  the  next,  and  the  next,  Elvire  was  full 
of  sweet,  languid  melancholy ;  she  looked  charming,  her  husband 
thought. 

On  the  fourth  evening  Carouge  came  home  in  boisterous  spirits, 
and  when  dinner  was  over  he  began  to  tease  Elvire  about  her  books. 
She  had  finished  "  Caroline  "  and  was  reading  "  Mathilde." 

"They  don't  make  people  merry!"  He  chucked  her  under  the 
chin. 

She  frowned,  and  pushed  his  hand  away  as  if  it  stung  her. 

"Merry  indeed!"  she  said,  with  such  intense  scorn  that  he  looked 
up  in  surprise. 

"What  is  the  matter,  child?"  he  said. 

Elvire  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears  and  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

This  time  Carouge  did  not  swear,  he  thought  seriously  over  the 
matter.  He  had  known  a  good  deal  about  women,  and  he  began  to 
watch  his  wife.  He  saw  that  she  was  again  becoming  pale  and 
languid,  and  he  noticed,  too,  that  she  had  lost  her  appetite. 

Once  more  he  consulted  the  house-keeper;  but  she  only  frowned 
and  shook  her  head. 

"Nothing  pleases  madame  now,"  she  said;  "she  eats  nothing, 


16  PROLOGUE. 

monsieur,  and  she  cries  every  day.  Monsieur  does  not  like  me  to 
say  so,  but  I  think  madame  wants  change. " 

Yes,  Elvire  wanted  change,  but  not  the  sort  of  change  meant  by 
her  house-keeper.  Carouge  called  in  a  doctor;  but  when  he  had 
paid  a  long  visit,  the  doctor  also  shook  his  head. 

"She  is  not  ill,"  he  said,  "she  is  low  and  nervous.  Give  her  a 
change  and  as  much  variety  as  you  can. " 

Carouge  felt  angry  and  unbelieving.  If  Elvire  was  not  ill,  he 
considered  it  was  her  duty  to  appear  well  and  not  to  give  way  to 
nervous  fancies. 

"  She  could  get  over  them  if  she  tried,"  he  said,  angrily. 

She  did  not,  however,  get  over  them ;  she  became  daily  more  lan- 
guid, and  she  shrank  from  her  husband  more  and  more. 

At  last  Carouge  followed  the  doctor's  advice ;  he  took  her  to  Berne 
and  to  Interlaken,  when  these  places  were  nearly  empty  of  visitors. 
Elvire  was  pleased ;  she  brightened  up.  For  a  week  or  so  she  was 
smiling  and  cheerful,  then  she  relapsed  into  her  silent,  abstracted 
state.  There  was  one  new  feature  in  it:  every  now  and  then,  with- 
out any  conscious  provocation  on  his  part,  Carouge  met  her  eyes, 
filled  with  passionate  indignation,  and  when  he  inquired  how  he  had 
offended  her  she  refused  to  answer. 

So  after  a  while  he  let  her  alone.  One  of  the  fits  of  passion  which 
he  knew  she  was  capable  of  would  have  been  a  relief  from  her 
dreary  indifference.  His  bower  of  ])liss  had  changed  its  character, 
and  Carouge  began  to  stay  later  and  later  at  the  Beauregard.  He 
drank  so  much  wine,  too,  that  he  often  found  it  advisable  to 
sleep  there.  So  years  slipped  by,  till  one  day  Carouge  died  sud- 
denlJ^ 

The  news  was  brought  to  Elvire,  and  she  could  scarcely  conceal 
her  joy.  She  was  free — free  from  the  husband  she  had  gi'own  to 
hate,  and  from  the  bondage  which  had  become  intolerable.  She  had 
hated  Carouge  ever  since  she  had  longed  to  love ;  she  had  loved,  in 
fact,  a  dream  love  which  she  now  resolved  to  find.  She  was  free  to 
go  out  into  the  world  and  seek  it.  She  soon  learned  that  she  was 
rich  as  well  as  free.  Carouge  had  no  near  relations,  and  he  had 
bequeathed  all  he  possessed  to  his  wife. 

"Ah!  but  I  do  not  owe  him  much,"  the  beautiful  woman  said; 
"he  has  wasted  my  youth.  I  am  eight-and-twenty,  and  I  have  not 
yet  begun  to  live." 


§1*^.^1^: 


CHAPTER  I. 


"Take  your  places!  take  your  places!  The  train  is  going  to 
start."  Then,  in  a  louder  voice,  "The  train  for  Lausanne!"  This 
on  one  side  of  the  big  station.  On  the  other  was  heard,  in  yet 
harsher  tones,  "A  stay  of  five  minutes — Berne!    Berne!" 

Out  of  this  train,  which  had  just  arrived  from  Lucerne,  were 
pouring  scores  of  travellers — English,  American,  German,  and  others 
— their  arms  full  of  rugs  and  bags,  etc.  At  first  they  did  not  hurry, 
but  went  about  with  their  burdens  in  search  of  porters  with  whom 
to  deposit  them.  But  when  the  warning  cry  was  heard  from  the 
other  side,  they  hurried  on,  staggering  under  the  weight  of  their 
varied  impedimenta. 

A  tall  official  at  the  top  of  the  steps  at  the  end  of  the  platform 
shouted  out  to  them  to  make  haste,  and  pointed  to  the  train  about 
to  start  for  Lausanne,  quite  on  the  farther  side  of  the  wide  area ; 
but  greater  haste  was  impossible  for  many  of  the  travellers.  A  tall, 
gray-haired  man,  encumbered  with  bags  and  sticks,  limped  along 


18  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

with  a  look  of  despair  on  his  charming,  high-bred  face.  A  young 
Swiss  girl  saw  his  trouble,  and  presently  catching  sight  of  a  porter 
with  a  truck,  she  pounced  upon  him  like  a  hawk. 

"Do  you  not  see,"  she  said,  eagerly,  "the  gentleman  is  lame,  and 
he  will  not  be  in  time?  You  are  going  across  with  those  boxes;  can 
you  not  also  take  his  luggage?" 

While  she  spoke,  the  Englishman  had  flung  his  load  on  the  truck, 
and  then,  taking  off  his  hat,  he  thanked  the  girl,  and  asked  if  he 
could  help  her. 

"No,  thank  you,  sk,"  she  said,  in  a  fresh,  young  voice.  "I  stay 
at  Berne. " 

He  bowed  again,  and  went  on. 

The  girl  looked  wistfully  after  him,  then  round  the  station,  where 
all  was  bustle  and  confusion;  then  she  turned  to  follow  the  stream 
of  travellers  going  towards  the  waj^  out.  Here  they  had  to  run  the 
gantlet  of  a  line  of  omnibus  conductors,  each  bearing  the  name  of 
his  hotel  on  his  cap ;  some  were  silent,  only  holding  up  their  fingers, 
but  others  clamored  for  passengers.  The  other  travellers  were  soon 
relieved  of  their  burdens,  but  the  young  girl  only  hugged  her  bag 
more  closely  when  an  officious  conductor  tried  to  take  it  from  her. 

She  was  tall,  and  although  young  and  fair,  looked  far  more  capa- 
ble of  carrying  a  load  than  many  of  the  pale  English  women  she  had 
seen  starting  on  their  second  journey.  She  too  was  pale,  but  evi- 
dently this  was  a  natural  tint;  there  was  no  sign  of  ill  health  or 
feebleness  in  her  face.  Indeed,  her  pale,  clear  skin  matched  well 
with  the  light  brown  hair  that  waved  over  her  forehead,  and  with 
the  gray  eyes  below;  these  eyes  darkened  and  brightened,  and  a 
faint  rosy  color  showed  itself,  as  the  man  again  tried  to  take  her 
bag. 

"You  must  be  going  somewhere  in  the  town,"  he  said.  " Come 
with  me.  See!  I  have  plenty  of  room."  And  he  pointed  to  a  little 
omnibus,  the  shabbiest  in  the  row  drawn  up  in  front  of  the  station. 

The  girl  bit  her  lips.  The  noise  and  bustle  had  made  her  head 
spin,  and  she  would  gladly  have  taken  shelter  from  it ;  but  she  re- 
membered the  directions  she  had  received.  She  pulled  out  a  bit  of 
folded  paper  from  her  glove,  and  held  it  for  the  man  to  read. 

' '  Spitalgasse, "  he  said — ' '  Madame  Bobineau ;  that's  the  glove  shop 
— oh!"    His  interest  vanished,  and  he  turned  away. 

"You  are  close  by,  my  girl,"  he  said,  over  his  shoulder.  "Go 
straight  on ;  you  will  see  the  shop  under  the  arcade,  a  Uttle  way  be- 


AT   TUE    RED   GLOVE.  19 

yond  the  corner  of  the  Place  yonder;  <i  large  red  glove  hangs  over 
the  shop." 

"Please  stop,"  the  girl  said,  in  a  frightened  voice.  " I  was  to  ask 
some  one — you,  perhaps— if  your  omnibus  goes  past  Madame  Bo- 
bineau's  house." 

"  Yes,  yes — what  then?"  he  said.     He  was  less  surly  now. 

' '  Then  I  am  to  give  you  this  " — she  gave  him  her  luggage  ticket 
— "and  I  was  to  ask  you  to  bring  my  box  to  Madame  Bobineau's, 
in  the  Spitalgasse." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  gi'unted.  The  girl,  without  anoth- 
er look  at  him,  darted  out  into  the  street,  and  then  stopped,  bewil- 
dered by  the  movement  around  her. 

It  was  market-day  in  Berne,  and  besides  the  crowd  of  small  vehi- 
cles, there  were  groups  of  peasant  women  in  sober  costume  of  black 
and  white,  varied  by  flower-crowned  hats,  and  silver  chains  hanging 
from  each  shoulder  of  their  bodices.  Also  it  was  the  last  week  in 
July,  and  Berne  was  full  of  tourists,  either  just  arrived  or  just  set- 
ting out  in  search  of  health  and  amusement. 

Marie  Peyrolles,  fresh  from  her  quiet  convent  home  near  Lake 
Lucerne,  felt  dazed  rather  than  amused.  She  had  no  link  of  sj'm- 
pathy  to  connect  her  with  the  bustle  in  the  street.  The  stalwart 
milk-carriers,  bending  under  the  weight  of  their  wooden  milk-cans, 
or  walking  beside  the  huge  yellow  dogs  that  drew  their  milk-bar- 
rows, had  no  word  or  message  for  her.  They  nodded  to  the  women 
at  the  fruit-stalls  beside  the  road,  to  the  girls  at  the  fountains,  or  to 
other  women  who  passed  them;  the  comers  in  from  the  villages 
told  their  bits  of  gossip  or  did  their  marketing  as  they  went  up  the 
long  street  towards  the  Clock  Tower.  The  sun  shone  hotly  on  the 
round  stones  of  the  street,  and  birds  in  their  cages  sang  merrily 
among  the  flowers  at  the  blind-shaded  windows. 

Marie  did  not  see  sorrow  anywhere,  but  her  heart  was  heavy;  she 
felt  a  forlorn  stranger  amid  all  this  life  and  bustle,  and  she  stood 
fairly  scared  at  the  corner  of  the  large  Place,  looking  up  and  down 
the  four  ways  that  met  there. 

"  Was  it  left  or  right  I  had  to  turn?"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  grew 
larger  still  with  terror  and  sadness. 

She  had  that  morning  said  good-bye  to  all  she  loved — the  good 
sisters  of  St.  Esprit— and  now,  before  her  tears  were  dry,  she  had 
lost  her  way  in  seeking  her  guardian's  house.  Marie  had  tried  not 
to  prejudice  herself  against  this  guardian,  her  old  cousin,  Madame 


20  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE, 

Bobineaii.  She  knew  that  she  had  no  claim  on  her,  and  that,  as  the 
good  sisters  had  said,  it  was  very  kind  and  generous  of  her  cousin 
to  come  forward  and  offer  to  provide  for  her.  ilarie  had  often  felt 
a  longing  to  see  what  the  world  was  like  beyond  the  little  village 
near  the  convent;  but,  so  far,  she  was  chilled  and  frightened — she 
thought  her  cousin  would  have  met  her — and  now  she  feared  she 
would  scold  her  for  having  lost  her  way.  She  stood  still,  and  tried 
to  keep  back  some  fresh  tears  which  were  scalding  her  eyelids. 

In  a  minute  or  two  she  became  aware  that  a  short,  stout,  very  up- 
right man,  with  a  round,  placid,  whiskerless  face,  was  staring  at  her. 
He  seemed  to  have  stopped  for  no  other  purpose.  There  he  stood, 
his  legs  wide  apart,  his  small  black  eyes  and  his  mouth  wide  open, 
surveying  her  with  much  complacency. 

At  first  Marie  frowned :  she  thought  it  was  rude  of  him  to  stare 
so.  Her  second  thought  was  that  he  looked  good-natured,  and 
would  perhaps  help  her. 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  she  said,  growing  rosy,  for  she  felt  much 
shyer  in  speaking  to  this  stranger  than  she  had  felt  in  helping  the 
Englishman,  "can  you  tell  me  if  I  am  near  the  Spitalgasse?" 

The  stout  man  had  raised  his  hat  at  the  first  word;  he  bowed 
profoundly. 

"I  am  at  your  service,  mademoiselle,"  he  said.  "This  is  the 
Spitalgasse" — he  pointed  to  the  ai'caded  street  on  the  left;  then 
seeing  the  tears  hanging  on  her  ej'elashes,  he  divined  some  of  her 
uneasiness.  "If  mademoiselle  will  have  the  goodness  to  tell  me 
Avhere  she  is  going,  I  will  gladly  show  her  the  way."  He  looked 
hard  at  her,  and  pushed  up  the  tuft  of  hair  on  his  chin  with  a  fat, 
stumpy  finger. 

But  the  nuns  had  bade  Marie  beware  of  strange  men,  and  she  re- 
membered how  the  conductor  had  told  her  to  find  the  shop. 

"I  thank  you,  monsieur,"  she  said,  shyly,  "but  I  know  my  way 
now." 

Her  grateful  glance  completed  her  conquest  over  the  stout  man. 
He  stood  looking  after  her,  hat  in  hand,  with  his  feet  set  widely 
apart. 

"  She  is  a  dainty  morsel,"  he  said  to  himself,  "fresh  as  a  bunch 
of  flowers.  My  friend  Loigerot,  if  you  do  not  find  out  where  this 
pretty  bird  is  going  to  perch,  you  are  not  worthy  to  have  been  a 
captain  in  the  Forty-fifth  Regiment  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon  the 
Third." 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  21 

He  had  put  on  his  hat,  but  at  this  he  uncovered  again,  and  glanced 
at  the  decoration  on  his  coat.  No  one  looking  at  him  could  mistake 
his  profession  or  his  country.  One  sees  such  middle-aged  warriors 
by  the  dozen,  in  their  blue  frocks  and  sword-belts  and  red  breeches, 
in  any  French  garrison  town  ;  and  although  he  had  quitted  the 
army,  and  wore  plain  clothes,  Monsieur  Loigerot  had  a  way,  as  he 
walked,  of  putting  his  hand  now  and  then  to  adjust  the  sword  which 
no  longer  hung  beside  him.  His  broad,  cheerful  face  looked  serene 
and  untroubled ;  no  lines  furrowed  his  brown  forehead,  though  it 
must  be  owned  that  the  hair  had  receded  from  it,  and  was  even  a 
little  gray.  He  had  lately  inherited  some  property — a  little  country 
house  near  Strasbourg,  and  some  land  had  been  left  to  him  by  an 
old  relative  whose  affairs  would  take  some  months  to  settle;  and  so, 
after  thirty  years  of  army  life.  Captain  Achille  Loigerot  had  decided 
to  give  up  soldiering  and  settle  down  as  a  quiet  citizen.  In  a  few 
months'  time  he  should  come  into  possession  of  his  property,  and 
then  he  meant  to  marry;  meantime  he  had  come  to  Berne  to  look 
up  an  old  acquaintance,  one  of  the  few  he  could  lay  claim  to.  His 
friend  kept  a  hotel  in  Berne,  but  on  arriving  in  that  city  Monsieur 
Loigerot  found  that  Jacques  Carouge,  whom  he  had.  not  seen  for 
twenty  years,  was  dead,  and  that  his  young  widow  was  left  hostess 
of  the  Hotel  Beauregard. 

This  very  morning  he  had  reminded  Madame  Carouge  of  the 
Beauregard  that  he  wanted  a  wife:  not  too  young — a  sensible,  pleas- 
ant woman,  who  would  manage  his  house  and  make  life  agreeable. 

The  handsome  widow  had  nodded  and  told  him  he  would  find 
plenty  for  the  asking,  and  then  he  had  timidly  invoked  her  aid  in 
the  search.  "Quiet  and  amiable,  and  about  thirty-five,"  he  said, 
in  a  shamefaced  way.  Just  now  the  sight  of  this  fair  young  coun- 
try girl  had  scattered  these  sober  visions;  and  although  he  did  not 
follow  Marie  closely,  he  determined  to  keep  her  in  sight,  and  Mon- 
sieur Loigerot  went  up  the  Spitalgasse  on  the  other  side  of  the  way, 
knowing  well  that  under  the  arcades,  crowded  as  they  were  to-day, 
it  would  not  be  easy  for  the  girl  to  distinguish  him.  Both  sides  of 
the  street  were  so  full  that  it  cost  him  much  vigilance  not  to  lose 
sight  of  the  girl  over  the  way ;  every  shop-window  had  its  group  of 
gazers,  and  in  the  street  between  was  a  double  line  of  fruit  and  veg- 
etable stalls,  so  that  vehicles  coming  up  or  going  down  found  it  dif- 
ficult to  pass  between  the  stalls. 

All  at  once  a  horse  turned  restive,  backed  against  a  pile  of  plums 


23  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

and  pears,  and  sent  the  rich-hued  fruit  rolling  over  the  stones. 
Monsieur  Loigerot  stood  still,  laughing  heartily  at  the  promptitude 
with  which  a  score  of  urchins  flung  themselves  on  the  spoil,  while 
the  owner,  a  shrivelled  old  woman,  scolded  and  grumbled  and  chat- 
tered through  her  toothless  gums,  and  frowned  till  the  lines  in  her 
brown  face  looked  inky,  and  her  small  eyes  like  a  pair  of  shining 
black  beads.  It  was  all  over  in  a  moment.  The  subdued  horse  was 
led  off,  the  old  woman's  stall  was  righted,  and  Monsieur  Loigerot 
looked  across  the  street  to  see  whether  his  country  girl  had  also  en- 
joyed the  little  scene.  She  had  vanished.  Opposite  him  was  the 
Stork  Fountain,  gray-green  with  age,  and  just  behind  this  was  the 
glover's  shop,  over  which  he  lodged,  with  a  plump,  huge,  scarlet 
glove  hanging  over  the  door-way.  Beyond  was  a  confectioner's, 
and  its  windows  were  extra  gay  to-day ;  there  was  a  brave  show  of 
delicate  cakes,  frosted  with  sugar  or  brown  with  chocolate,  cream 
tarts,  and  many  colored  fondants.  He  peered  curiously  in,  for  it 
seemed  a  likely  place  to  tempt  a  young  girl's  appetite.  The  shop 
was  empty,  and  Madame  Webern  herself  stood  behind  her  counter. 

The  captain  little  knew  how  near  he  was  to  the  object  of  his 
search,  when  he  forbore  to  question  Madame  Webern. 

"She  and  the  old  Bobineau  are  dear  friends,"  he  said.  "They 
are  always  gossiping.  I  do  not  choose  my  landlady  to  hear  that  I 
have  been  looking  after  a  girl;  it  might  make  her  less  civil." 

He  went  a  little  farther,  looked  curiously  into  the  shops,  but  at 
last  he  turned  back  to  resume  his  walk,  which  his  meeting  with 
Marie  had  interrupted.  A  twinkle  came  into  his  quiet  eyes.  "  It 
does  not  matter.  I  will  keep  a  good  lookout,  and  we  shall  meet 
again.  After  all,  I  do  not  think  that  Bobineau  would  trouble  her- 
self about  me."  He  gave  a  chuckle.  "  She  is  blind  to  the  ways  of 
a  first-floor  lodger  who  pays  his  rent  every  week.  That  poor  devil 
on  the  top  story,  or  even  my  tall  friend  the  bank  clerk,  over  my 
head,  might  find  her  more  clear-sighted." 

He  walked  on  smiling ;  he  did  not  see  why  he  should  not  amuse 
himself  with  a  little  adventure  before  he  settled  down  quietly  into 
matrimony  with  the  pleasant  wife  he  had  asked  Madame  Carouge  to 
find  for  him. 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  2'6 


CHAPTER  II. 

MADAME  BOBESTEAU. 

Marie  Peyrolles  passed  by  the  glove  shop,  and  gave  a  timid 
knock  on  the  house  door  beside  it.  She  was  too  much  agitated 
even  to  notice  the  plethoric-looking  glove  that  seemed  to  point  either 
a  warning  or  a  welcoming  finger  towards  her.  Presently  the  door 
opened,  but  the  passage  was  so  dark  that  she  could  only  see  dimly. 

" Come  in,"  a  voice  said  in  the  darkness.  "Is  it  you,  Marie  Pey- 
rolles?" 

"  Yes,"  the  girl  answered;  and  then  the  door  shut  behind  her,  and 
she  followed  the  short  figure  she  began  to  make  out  in  the  darkness 
to  the  end  of  the  narrow  passage. 

A  door  was  opened  on  the  left,  and  light  streamed  through.  Then 
Marie  saw  that  she  was  following  a  small  woman  in  a  shabby  gown 
of  brown  stuff  into  a  shallow  oblong  room  surrounded  by  shelves, 
on  which  stood  paper  boxes  ranged  closely  one  against  another;  on 
two  sides  these  shelves  reached  the  ceiling,  at  the  back  a  small  win- 
dow intervened,  and  opposite  this  was  a  glass  partition  between  the 
room  and  the  shop.  The  panes  of  tiiis  partition  were  frosted,  ex- 
cept those  four  which  made  the  upper  part  of  a  door  of  communica- 
tion; over  these  panes  hung  a  green  curtain,  which  at  this  moment 
was  tucked  up  on  one  side  so  as  to  command  the  entrance  of  the 
shop.  Marie's  eyes  had  strayed  from  her  conductor  to  take  in  these 
details.  Now,  looking  down  at  her,  she  met  the  piercing  gaze  of 
two  small,  narrow,  dark  eyes.  It  seemed  as  if  some  one  had  drawn 
the  face  belonging  to  these  eyes  on  each  side  till  it  had  taken  a  sort 
of  Chinese  expression,  which  the  paucity  of  eyelashes  increased;  the 
face  was  certainly  more  broad  than  long,  and  the  loss  of  teeth  had 
brought  the  nose  and  chin  nearer  together  than  nature  had  originally 
meant  them  to  be.  Madame  Bobineau's  skin  was  thick  and  yellow, 
and  looked  older  than  her  hair  did ;  this  was  still  brown,  and  was 
strained  in  flat  braids  into  a  little  round  knot  behind  her  head,  the 
knot  being  crowned  by  a  black  comb  with  five  points,  each  sur- 
mounted by  a  large  black  knob.     She  wore  a  black  silk  apron,  and 


24  AT   THE   RED   GLOVE. 

some  folds  of  white  muslia  showed  between  her  throat  and  the 
top  of  her  shabby  gown.  Marie  thought  as  she  looked  that  the 
nuns'  garb  at  St.  Esprit  was  far  more  attractive  than  this  dull  Puri- 
tan costume;  she  supposed  that  this  must  be  her  guardian. 

Finding  that  she  did  not  smile,  but  went  on  gravely  -with  her  scru- 
tiny, the  girl  smiled  timidly.  "  I  hope  I  find  you  well,  cousin.  You 
are  Cousin  Bobineau,  are  you  not?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  child,  I  am  always  well,"  was  the  brisk  answer.  "Did 
you  find  your  way  easily?"  and  raising  herself  on  tiptoe,  she  tried  to 
kiss  Marie's  forehead. 

The  girl's  constraint  vanished ;  she  bent  down,  hugged  the  old 
woman  in  her  strong  young  arms,  and  kissed  her  lovingly  on  both 
cheeks. 

Madame  Bobineau  gave  a  little  gasp  w^hen  released,  and  looked 
yet  more  attentively  at  her  visitor. 

"  You  look  much  older  than  I  expected,"  she  said,  in  a  cold  voice. 
"  How  old  are  you?" 

"  I  am  just  eigliteen." 

"  Can  it  be  true?    Berthold's  child  eighteen!    How  time  runs  on!" 

"You  knew  my  father,  cousin,  did  you  not?" 

"  Yes — "  Madame  Bobineau  checked  herself.  "  Sit  down,  child. 
I  do  not  mean  unkindly,  Marie,  but  it  is  better  to  begin  as  we  are  to 
go  on.  You  can  call  me  madame,  or  Madame  Bobineau.  I  dare 
say  the  sisters  told  you  that  you  were  coming  here  to  help  in  my 
shop."  Marie  bent  her  head*  "Well,  then,  you  are  to  be  my  as- 
sistant, not  my  relative,  remember — it  sounds  better  in  business. "  She 
gave  an  uneasy  smile,  and  the  girl  thought  she  looked  less  friendly. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  find  me  very  ignorant,"  Marie  said,  timidly. 
"I  can  embroider,  but  I  cannot  do  much  else;  but  I  will  trj^,  ma- 
dame," she  added,  earnestly. 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course,"  said  the  old  woman.  "Are  you  hungry? 
Come  this  way,  and  eat  something." 

They  went  again  into  the  dark  passage,  then  down  some  steps  and 
across  a  bit  of  yard  to  a  kitchen.  Here  the  cloth  was  laid  for  two 
on  a  round  table ;  a  hideous  old  woman,  with  a  throat  that  Marie 
could  not  bear  to  look  at,  took  the  cover  off  a  little  soup  tureen,  and 
also  from  a  dish  of  veal  and  macaroni. 

"Madame  will  find  the  tart  on  the  shelf,"  she  said,  and  she  went 
away. 

Marie  was  very  hungry  after  her  journey.     Madame  Bobineau 


AT  THE    RED   GLOVE,  25 

took  a  little  soup,  and  then  a  few  mouthfuls  of  the  ragodt;  but  as 
she  watched  her  visitor  eat,  her  face  grew  longer  and  her  eyes  hard 
and  eager. 

"  She  eats  like  a  wolf.  Will  this  happen  every  day?"  she  said  to 
herself.  Then,  after  a  pause  of  silent  watching,  "It  shall  not; 
young  animals  never  know  when  they  have  had  enough.  Already 
she  has  eaten  a  plateful  of  soup  and  two  helps  of  meat.  It  is  too 
much.  Her  services  will  not  be  worth  much  till  she  has  been  some 
time  with  me ;  she  is  sure  to  make  mistakes  with  the  customers. 
She  looks  strong-willed;  she  must  not  be  allowed  to  get  her  head. 
Poor  Bobineau  used  to  say,  '  Keep  young  girls  under,  and  they  will 
never  know  that  they  have  wills  or  fancies.'  He  always  said  luxury 
was  bad  for  tjie  young.     Ah!  he  was  wise." 

In  old  Bobiueau's  lifetime  his  wife  had  groaned  under  his  miserly 
despotism ;  but  ever  since  he  had  freed  her  by  his  death  she  had 
quoted  his  opinions,  and  tried  to  act  them  out,  utterly  unmindful  of 
her  own  suffering  under  his  suspicion  and  niggard  ways.  This  was 
the  first  time  that  she  had  been  able  to  put  herself  entirely  in  Bobi- 
neau's  place.  She  had  had  assistants,  but  these  had  been  girls  with 
homes  of  their  own;  they  came  in  the  morning  and  went  away  at 
night,  and  they  brought  their  dinner  with  them.  The  old  woman 
who  cleaned  the  house  only  came  for  half  a  day,  and  was  quite  in- 
dependent of  Madame  Bobineau. 

As  she  sat  blinking  her  narrow  eyes  at  the  fresh  young  creature 
who  had  brought  a  touch  of  summer  into  the  sunless  room,  Madame 
Bobineau  groaned. 

"I  have  been  overgenerous  to  have  her  here,"  she  thought.  "I 
believe  from  what  those  sisters  wrote  of  the  girl  that  they  would 
have  kept  her,  fed  her,  and  clothed  her  as  long  as  she  chose  to  stay. 
Well,  as  I  have  been  a  fool  once,  I  must  be  as  wise  as  I  can  to  make 
up  for  it."  She  took  a  small  box  from  her  pocket,  and  from  it  a 
huge  pinch  of  snuff. 

Just  at  this  point  Marie  left  off  eating,  and  helped  herself  to  a 
draft  of  water  from  the  carafe  on  the  table. 

"You  do  not  seem  hungry,  cousin,"  she  said.  "You  make  me 
ashamed  to  eat  so  much;  but  I  was  so  very  hungry." 

Madame  Bobineau  smiled  grimly.  "  There  is  a  tart."  She  looked 
at  the  shelf  behind  the  door.  She  hoped  Marie  would  refuse  this 
luxury;  at  any  rate  she  would  not  tempt  her  through  her  eyes  by 
setting  it  before  her. 


26  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

"Thank  j'ou."  Marie  rose  up  to  get  the  tart.  "You  are  very- 
kind." 

She  could  easily  have  finished  the  small  dish  of  meat,  and  this 
slice  of  flat  plum  tart  did  not  look  satisfying.  She  cut  it  in  two, 
and  offered  a  portion  to  Madame  Bobineau. 

Her  cousin  shook  her  head  and  pressed  her  lips  closely  together. 
"I  have  dined:  soup  and  meat  make  a  dinner  fit  for  a  countess," 
she  said,  coldly,  and  she  folded  her  shrivelled  hands  in  patient  resig- 
nation at  the  time  consumed  over  such  a  worthless  employment  as 
eating. 

"  It  is  excellent,"  said  Marie.  She  was  accustomed  to  liberal  fare, 
and  she  helped  herself  to  the  remainder. 

Madame  Bobineau  chafed  inwardly,  but  she  had  learned  to  con- 
trol any  show  of  feeling. 

"  When  you  have  quite  finished,"  she  said,  with  an  emphasis  that 
made  Marie  redden  as  she  swallowed  the  last  mouthful  of  pastry, 
"I  will  tell  you  what  your  duties  are." 

Marie  jumped  up  briskly.  "  Shall  I  clear  this  away  first  ?"  she 
said. 

"By  no  means;  leave  it.  I  wish  you  to  understand  that  you 
come  into  this  kitchen  only  three  times  a  day,  for  your  meals.  You 
will  spend  the  rest  of  the  day  in  the  shop  or  in  my  parlor." 

"  Where  am  1  to  sleep,  madame?"  the  girl  said. 

Her  dinner  had  given  her  courage,  and  her  cheerful  tone  irritated 
Madame  Bobineau:  she  could  not  understand  the  fearlessness  begot 
by  sympathetic  treatment. 

"I  will  show  you,  later,"  she  said.  "There  is  no  room  for  y^ou 
here ;  my  rooms  are  let  to  lodgers.  I  have  taken  a  room  for  you 
close  by.     Now  come." 

She  led  the  way  back  to  her  parlor,  and  telling  Marie  to  leave 
her  hat  there,  she  went  into  the  shop,  and  drew  back  the  bolt  on  the 
street  door.  She  then  began  to  teach  Marie  her  duties.  She  showed 
her  the  places  of  the  gloves  in  their  boxes  below  and  behind  the 
counter,  told  her  how  to  find  the  sizes  and  the  prices,  and  also  gave 
her  instructions  relating  to  the  embroideries  and  the  other  articles 
she  had  for  sale. 

Marie  listened  attentively.  So  far,  her  work  seemed  easy  enough, 
and  she  began  to  think  it  would  be  amusing  to  see  so  many  differ- 
ent people  in  the  course  of  a  day,  for  Madame  Bobineau  told  her 
that  sometimes  she  had  as  many  as  six  customers  at  once  in  her 


AT  TDE   RED   GLOVE.  27 

shop.  Presently  she  took  Marie's  hand  and  held  it  in  her  skinny 
fingers. 

"Yes" — she  looked  carefully  at  the  plump  hand — "it  is  not  a 
bad  hand;  it  will  do;  though  sunburned,  it  has  not  done  rough 
work,  I  see.  So  much  the  better.  To  begin  with,  I  will  show  you 
how  to  put  on  your  gloves." 

Marie  grew  rosy  to  the  wavy  curls  on  her  forehead. 

' '  I  have  not  any  gloves, "  she  said,  in  a  mortified  voice ;  "  we  never 
wore  them  at  the  convent." 

"  That  does  not  matter, " Madame  Bobineau  said,  coldly.  "What 
you  have  to  learn  is  how  to  fit  them  on  my  customers."  She  gave 
another  look  at  Marie's  hand,  then  reaching  a  box  down  from  one  of 
the  shelves,  she  took  out  a  dull  pair  of  slate-colored  gloves,  spotted 
in  two  or  three  places  with  mildew. 

"These  will  do,"  she  said.     "Now  observe  how  I  fit  you." 

Marie  stood  wondering  while  the  glove  was  being  fitted.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  Madame  Bobineau  was  wasting  so  much  time 
and  trouble ;  and  when  she  took  from  the  counter  a  pretty  little  steel 
hook,  and  buttoned  every  one  of  the  four  button-holes,  she  won- 
dered still  more,  while  her  round  firm  wrist  ached  at  the  squeezing 
to  which  it  was  subjected. 

"There " — madame  smiled  with  her  satisfaction — "if  it  had  been 
made  for  your  hand,  that  glove  could  not  have  fitted  better.  Yes, 
yes  " — she  put  her  head  on  one  side,  nearly  closing  her  narrow  eyes 
— "  I  know  by  looking,  but  you  must  be  content  to  measure  until 
your  eye  has  got  practised.  Now,  watch  me  carefully  measure — 
so  " — she  took  the  fellow-glove  from  the  counter  and  measured  it 
across  Marie's  knuckles — "and  so,"  as  she  tried  it  from  the  thumb- 
tip  to  the  point  of  the  forefinger.  "Let  me  see  you  do  that,"  she 
said,  gravely. 

Marie  began  to  laugh ;  she  thought  such  child's  play  as  this  could 
not  have  an  earnest  meaning,  but  she  measured  the  glove  very  ex- 
actly, and,  as  Madame  Bobineau  saw,  with  a  simple  grace  of  man- 
ner that  was  veiy  attractive. 

"There  is  nothing  to  laugh  about."  She  gave  a  dry  cough.  " In 
business  you  must  smile  and  look  pleasant,  but  you  must  never 
laugh  at  a  customer;  laughing  would  be  quite  out  of  place;  it  might 
give  grave  offence.  I  think  I  have  told  you  all  that  is  necessary. 
You  have  only  to  select,  measure,  and  then  try  on  the  gloves;  if 
they  seem  a  little  small,  here  are  stretchers  and  here  is  powder;"  she 

2 


28  AT   THE    BED   GLOVE. 

Stopped  and  illustrated  lier  meaning  with  the  help  of  one  of  the 
spotted  gloves.  "  You  are  to  do  exactly  as  you  have  seen  me  do- 
exactly,"  she  added,  severely,  "let  the  customers  be  whom  they 
will;  and  above  all,  make  no  mistake  in  the  price." 

"I  am  to  do  to  strangers  all  those  things?"  Marie  said,  slowly, 
with  a  surprised  stare ;  and  then  the  absurdity  overcame  her  shyness, 
and  she  laughed  out  merrily. 

"Chut!"  said  Madame  Bobineau.  "I  tell  you  I  cannot  allow 
you  to  laugh  in  the  shop.  See,  now.  The  best  way  is  for  you  to 
begin  at  once;  go  behind  the  counter  and  fit  me  on  this  glove,  or 
take  off  the  one  on  your  hand,  it  will  go  on  mine  easier." 

Marie  obeyed  in  silence ;  but  she  found  that  glove-fitting  was 
not  so  easy  as  it  looked;  the  color  flew  into  her  face,  and  she  panted 
a  good  deal  before  she  succeeded  in  drawing  the  glove  over  ma- 
dame's  bony  knuckles.  She  was  too  rough  here  or  too  gentle  there, 
and  the  old  woman  said,  "You  must  begin  all  over  again." 

The  third  attempt  was  pronounced  better,  and  Marie  hoped  that 
her  probation  was  over,  and  that  she  should  be  allowed  to  get  cool 
again. 

"Here  comes  a  customer,"  said  Madame  Bobineau;  and  she  seated 
herself  behind  the  opposite  counter. 

The  shop  door  opened  slowly,  and  in  came  a  tall,  gray-haired 
woman,  with  a  long,  inquisitive  nose,  and  lips  that  showed  her 
gums  when  she  smiled.  She  was  so  simply  dressed  that  Marie 
thought  she  could  not  possibly  care  about  the  fit  of  her  gloves. 

"Good-day,  neighbor,"  she  said;  and  then  she  looked  at  Marie. 
"  I  came  to  tell  you  that  there  is  a  sale  of  needle-work  at  Thun  next 
week.  You  might  pick  up  bargains."  As  she  spoke  she  went  close 
up  to  Madame  Bobineau.  "You  have  got  a  new  assistant?"  she 
said,  in  a  low  voice. 

Madame  Bobineau  shook  her  head.  "I  have  no  money  to  buy 
bargains  with,  Madame  Riesen.  I  have  to  feed  and  clothe  the  fa- 
therless." She  turned  up  her  eyes  and  drew  down  the  corners  of 
her  mouth.  "Yes,"  she  went  on,  so  that  Marie  could  hear,  "that 
is  the  orphan  daughter  of  my  cousin  Berthold  Peyrolles,  and  I  am 
the  only  relative  she  has  in  the  world." 

"And  she  has  come  to  help  you,"  said  Madame  Riesen.  "  Ah!  I 
like  to  hear  that.  It  will  be  pleasant  for  you  to  have  something  young 
about  you;"  and  Madame  Riesen  giggled,  and  put  up  her  hand  as  if 
she  thought  the  movement  would  prevent  Marie  from  hearing. 


AT   THE   BED   GLOVE.  29 

"She  will  be  a  good  show-card— ha!  ha!— neighbor."  And  taking 
away  her  hand,  she  giggled  unrestrainedly. 

Madame  Bobineau  looked  stolid.  "Come  in  and  tell  me  about 
these  bargains;"  and  she  led  the  way  into  her  den.  Then  when  the 
door  was  shut,  and  she  had  tucked  up  the  curtain  over  the  little 
glass  window  that  looked  into  the  shop,  so  that  she  might  keep  an 
eye  on  Marie,  she  turned  a  wrathful  face  on  her  visitor.  "  For  the 
love  of  Heaven,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  be  more  careful.  Is  it 
not  enough  that  the  child  has  a  taking  face  and  taking  ways,  but 
you  should  come  and  put  into  her  head  what  will,  I  fear,  be  a  bur- 
den to  me?  When  I  first  saw  her  I  was  minded  to  send  her  back  at 
once  to  her  convent;  and  then" — she  turned  up  her  eyes — "I  felt 
that  I  had  promised  to  be  as  a  mother  to  the  orphan,  and  that  I 
could  not  go  back  from  my  word." 

"  Why  should  you?"  Madame  Riesen  patted  her  on  the  shoulder, 
but  her  mischievous  smile  showed  her  gums  almost  to  the  last  tooth 
in  her  head.  "  She  is  pleasant-looking  and  attractive,  but  she  is  not 
beautiful — not,  for  instance,  like  our  friend  at  the  Beauregard — and 
nothing  can  happen  in  the  shop  without  your  knowledge."  She 
gave  a  sly  look  at  the  tucked-up  curtain.  "  You  have  only  to  keep 
her  out  of  the  way  of  your  lodgers — ah!  that  may  be  less  easy." 

Madame  Bobineau  looked  yellower  than  ever.  She  always  ranked 
her  chattering  townswomau  a  fool,  and  to  be  instructed  by  her  was 
intolerable ;  at  the  same  time  the  glover  prided  herself  on  giving  of- 
fence to  no  one.  She  pressed  her  colorless  lips  still  closer,  and  bent 
her  head  with  a  re  assuring  smile. 

"There  is  no  fear  on  that  score.  I  have  no  room  to  give  Marie 
in  this  house.  Monsieur  Loigerot  has  both  rooms  on  the  first  floor; 
Monsieur  Engemann  has  the  second  floor  front;  the  room  behind 
that  is  not  furnished,  and  one  of  the  upper  rooms  I  let  to  a  stu- 
dent." 

"But  you  have  a  floor  above?"  Madame  Riesen  looked  inquisi- 
tive. 

"That  is  not  mine;  it  belongs,  with  the  grenier  over  it,  to  my 
landlord.     My  staircase  only  goes  to  the  third  story." 

Madame  Riesen  clapped  her  hands. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure!" — she  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  "How  often  have 
I  wondered  and  asked  Riesen  to  tell  me  what  you  could  possibly  do 
with  so  large  a  house !  and  I  knew  that  you  had  only  three  lodgers. " 

"How  kind  you  are!"    Madame  Bobineau's  smile  was  very  grim. 


30  AT   TUE    RED   GLOVE. 

"I  did  not  flatter  myself  you  thought  so  much  about  me.  Well, 
you  know  now,  and  you  see  that  1  have  not  a  room  for  Marie,  even 
if  it  were  fitting  to  introduce  a  girl  into  a  house  occupied  by  single 
men.     I  have  taken  a  lodging  for  her. " 

"Where  is  that?"  said  Madame  Riesen. 

"Not  far  off."  She  spoke  carelessly.  There  was  no  occasion  to 
let  this  inquisitive  gossip  know  that  she  had  got  a  miserable  garret 
room  for  Marie  from  a  poor  man  in  a  back  street.  She  had  lent 
this  man  money  at  a  high  rate  of  interest,  and  some  of  the  loan  re- 
mained unpaid;  it  had  seemed  to  her  a  golden  opportunity  to  place 
her  protegee  without  the  need  of  paying  rent. 

"That  is  thoughtful.  Well,  I  hope  all  will  go  right,  and  that  you 
will  be  rewarded  for  your  generosity."  Madame  Riesen  felt  that 
she  could  ask  no  more  questions.  ' '  If  she  does  encourage  young 
men,"  she  said,  laughing,  "you  cannot  find  fault.  I  wager  that 
there  will  be  a  run  on  the  Red  Glove  when  it  becomes  known  that 
there  is  a  handsome  girl  behind  the  counter.  I  congratulate  you, 
neighbor;  but  you'll  have  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  shop.  Why  " — 
she  gave  a  start  as  she  looked  at  the  clock  on  a  little  marble  shelf 
on  one  side  of  the  room — "Mon  Dieu!  how  late!  I  must  say  good- 
day — ah!  but  perhaps  your  clock  is  fast" — she  shook  hands — "I 
have  heard  Jules  say  that  you  regulate  it  yourself." 

"It  keeps  the  time  of  the  big  clock  on  the  tower,"  said  Madame 
Bobineau — her  face  still  wore  the  same  mask  of  indifference — "and 
I  believe  Madame  Carouge's  keeps  the  same  time. " 

Madame  Riesen  was  on  her  way  to  the  door ;  she  stopped  and 
turned  round. 

"Ah!  that  beautiful  Madame  Carouge,  is  it  not  wonderful  to  see 
her  taste?  Before  she  came  to  the  place,  I  have  heard  Jules  say, 
the  hotel  was  a  desert,  and  now  when  you  go  in  there  are  flowers, 
tropical  plants,  a  fountain — ah!  one  might  fancy  one's  self  in  Paris." 

"Your  husband  is  very  fond  of  Paris,  I  believe," said  the  old 
woman,  dryly. 

Madame  Riesen  was  quick  at  making  discoveries,  but  she  was  not 
sensitive. 

"It  gives  me  pleasure, "  she  said, "even  to  look  at  that  beautiful 
woman ;  and  only  think,  we  are  going  to  have  her  all  to  ourselves 
on  Sunday." 

"What  is  going  to  happen?"  said  Madame  Bobineau,  taking  a 
pinch  of  snuff. 


AT  THE    RED   GLOVE.  31 

"  We  have  asked  her  to  go  with  us  to  Thun.  Jules  says  we  shall 
spend  the  afternoon  on  the  lake.  It  will  be  heavenly.  Jules  has 
asked  some  one  else — Monsieur  Engemann,  I  fancy." 

"Ah?" 

A  checked  inquiry  shone  for  an  instant  in  the  narrow  eyes  of 
Madame  Bobineau. 

"Yes  " — her  visitor  gave  an  irritating  little  giggle — "  are  they  not 
a  handsome  pair?  Made  for  one  another,  I  say;  but  Jules  thinks 
Monsieur  Rudolph  too  young,  and  he  says  our  beautiful  widow 
might  do  better." 

"  Keep  as  she  is,  perhaps." 

This  time  Madame  Riesen  did  wince  a  little  at  the  dry  voice. 
She  nodded  and  went  out. 

The  old  woman  glanced  like  a  spider  through  her  spy  -  hole  ; 
then  she  smoothed  her  apron  with  her  withered  hands. 

"  Chattering  fool,"  she  said.  "  You  came  to  pick  up  my  secrets, 
but  you  leave  behind  more  than  yOu  take  away."  Madame  Bobi- 
neau took  a  long  pinch  of  snuflf,  and  nodded  her  head.  "  I  had  not 
thought  it  had  gone  so  far  between  the  widow  and  my  lodger." 


CHAPTER  III. 

AT  THE  h6tEL  BEAtTBEGABD. 


Madame  Carouoe  had  been  sitting  still,  with  an  expectant  look 
on  her  face,  for  more  than  half  an  hour.  Occasionally  her  eyes  had 
turned  from  the  clock  on  the  mantel-shelf  to  the  large  staircase.  She 
could  see  this  between  the  fronds  of  palms  and  ferns  that  almost  hid 
the  glass  front  of  her  room,  and  gave  a  pleasant  aspect  to  the  inner 
hall  of  the  Hotel  Beauregard. 

Madame  Carouge's  eyes  were  very  handsome  eyes,  large  and  dark, 
with  drooping  dark  lashes ;  the  broad  dark  eyebrows  might  have 
been  thought  heavy  on  any  one  else — on  this  ripe  nectarine-hued  skin 
they  were  perfect;  but,  indeed,  when  one  had  gazed  fully  at  Madame 
Carouge's  faultless  figure  and  superb  face,  one  only  thought  of  her 
eyes  and  of  her  lovely  mouth,  its  upper  lip  like  the  crumpled  leaf  of 
a  damask  rose.  Perhaps  the  admiration  she  invariably  created 
could  hardly  stay  to  dwell  on  detail.  One  brought  away  from  her 
a  vision  of  jewel -like  brilliance  and  velvet  softness.     She  moved 


32  AT    THE    RED    GLOVE. 

with  perfect  grace,  but  looked  perhaps  a  little  proud ;  yet  in  a  wom- 
an whose  head  was  so  divinely  placed,  and  who  walked  as  if  the 
world  belonged  to  her,  one  expected  a  little  extra  dignity.  And 
then  the  mystery  in  which  she  had  lived  (for  Monsieur  Carouge,  till 
he  died,  had  kept  her  in  his  countiy  cottage  beyond  the  Enge)  had 
doubtless  increased  the  reserve  that  now  characterized  her.  Ca- 
rouge had  been  dead  more  than  a  year,  and  yet  the  beautiful  widow 
was  little  known  in  Berne.  She  kept  herself  apart,  and  had  little  in- 
tercourse with  her  customers ;  they  did  their  business  with  the  head 
waiter,  Moritz,  the  man  with  sunken  cheeks  and  a  hectic  color,  who 
presided  over  the  bureau  on  the  right  of  the  door  as  you  entered. 

Madame  Carouge's  r'oom  was  farther  on,  on  the  same  side,  and 
communicating  by  a  door  with  the  bureau  aforesaid,  but  it  had  its 
special  entrance  round  the  corner,  so  as  to  face  both  the  staircase 
leading  to  the  salle  a  manger  up-stairs,  and  the  inner  hall,  which 
looked  very  pleasant  on  this  warm  evening,  with  its  tiny  fountain 
screened  by  the  surrounding  foliage. 

A  slight  frown  drew  the  heavy  eyebrows  together,  and  Madame 
Carouge's  beautiful  bosom  rose  and  fell  with  impatience.  Next  mo- 
ment she  smiled,  and  her  smile  was  what  the  clockmaker.  Monsieur 
Riesen,  in  the  corn  market,  called  "adorable;"  then  one  saw  how 
sweet  her  eyes  were,  and  how  exquisite  the  curves  of  her  perfect 
lips.  She  rose  up  and  shook  out  the  folds  of  her  trailing  black  silk 
gown  as  she  moved  like  a  queen  to  a  bird-cage  hanging  against  the 
glass  front  of  the  little  room. 

"  Cheri!"she  said,  and  placing  a  bit  of  sugar  between  her  full  red 
lips,  she  offered  it  to  the  little  golden  bird  in  the  cage.  As  she  bent 
her  head  you  saw  how  round  and  firm  was  her  throat  in  the  ruff  of 
black  lace  that  set  off  its  rich  brown  tint.  You  felt  instinctively 
how  warm  a  tide  flowed  beneath  this  golden  brown  skin,  and  just 
now,  as  a  tread  sounded  on  the  stairs,  it  revealed  itself  in  the  flush 
on  her  cheek  and  the  added  glow  in  her  dark  eyes. 

Cheri  took  the  sugar,  but  his  mistress's  lips  lingered  beside  the 
wires.  Could  she  be  trying  to  hide  the  blush  which  she  felt  on  her 
cheeks? 

She  listened.  The  steps  came  down  to  the  mat  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  In  the  pause  that  followed,  her  heart  throbbed  so  strongly 
that  instinctively,  and  as  it  were  to  calm  it,  she  put  one  hand  on  her 
bosom — not  a  small  hand,  but  one  proportioned  to  her  tall,  well-de- 
veloped figure,  with  roimd,  long,  tapering  fingers,  a  lovely  dimple 


SHE  PUT  ONE  HAND  ON  HER  BOSOM. 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  35 

at  the  root  of  each.  As  the  fellow-hand  hung  down  beside  her  it 
showed  a  rosy  cushioned  palm  that  would  have  gladdened  the  eyea 
of  a  hand -reader.  This  hand  contracted  nervously  as  the  steps 
moved  on,  not  down  the  passage  to  the  street,  but  leftward  to  her 
room.  And  now  she  could  see  between  the  palm  leaves  the  tall  fig- 
ure of  Monsieur  Rudolf  Engemann.  In  another  moment  he  was  at 
her  door,  which  stood  open ;  but  he  did  not  come  in. 

"Good-evening,  madame,"  he  said.  "What  delightful  weather 
— is  it  not?" 

The  smile  of  Madame  Carouge  was  beautiful  at  that  moment. 
She  looked  radiant  with  happiness;  and  as  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
young  man,  he  thought  he  had  never  seen  so  handsome  a  woman. 

"  Will  you  not  come  in?"  she  said. 

The  tall,  broad-shouldered  young  Swiss  bent  his  fair  head,  and 
came  into  the  pretty  little  room. 

He  was  not  a  stranger  there,  for  he  walked  up  at  once  to  the  bird- 
cage hanging  in  a  group  of  ferns  and  flowers. 

"How  are  you,  my  friend  Cheri,  eh?"  he  said. 

The  bird  put  his  head  on  one  side  and  looked  inquisitively  out  of 
his  sharp  black  eyes  at  the  friendly  blue  ones  bent  on  him, 

"Aha,  my  friend,"  said  Monsieur  Rudolf,  "I  often  hear  you  as  I 
go  up-stairs;  you  let  us  all  know  that  you  can  sing." 

All  this  while  madame's  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  him,  and  now  as 
he  suddenly  looked  up  she  did  not  turn  away.  "Can  you  really 
hear  him?"  she  smiled  up  at  her  tall  visitor.  "I  have  to  give  you  a 
message,  monsieur,"  she  said. 

He  bent  his  head;  he  wondered,  while  he  listened  to  her  pleasant 
voice,  mellow  as  her  comi^lexion,  if  any  woman  ever  stood  so  grace- 
fully before.  Her  exquisite  figure,  spite  of  its  rich  womanly  devel- 
opment, was  full  of  the  long  curving  lines  that  so  rejoice  an  artist. 
But  then  everything  was  harmonious  in  Madame  Carouge,  from  the 
soft  grace  of  her  movements  to  the  downward  sweep  of  her  long 
eyelashes,  as  she  began  to  speak. 

"Monsieur  Riesen,  our  good  neighbor — I  think  you  know  Mon- 
sieur Riesen "  (the  young  Swiss  nodded) — "has  asked  me  to  go  with 
him  and  his  wife  to  spend  a  Sunday  at  Thun.  We  are,  I  believe,  to 
spend  most  of  our  time  on  the  lake.  He  says  the  boat  will  hold 
four.  Will  you  condescend  to  be  of  the  party?"  She  raised  her 
eyes,  and  as  she  met  Monsieur  Rudolf's  admiring  gaze  she  blushed 
ever  so  little. 


36  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

"  Thank  you  so  very  much  !"  he  said,  impulsively.  "I  know  I 
owe  this  invitation  to  your  kindness." 

Madame  Carouge  looked  unmoved.  "Ah,  no,  monsieur,"  she 
smiled  ;  "I  deserve  no  more  thanks  than  the  postman  who  brings 
you  a  letter.  I  have  only  given  you  a  message  from  Monsieur  Riesen. 
He  will  be  so  pleased  if  I  may  say  that  you  accept  for  next  Sunday." 

"I  have  much  pleasure  in  accepting  such  a  kind  offer,"  he  said; 
and  then  he  saw  Moritz,  the  waiter,  at  the  door,  and  there  seemed 
no  excuse  for  lingering.  "Au  revoir,  madame."  He  bowed,  and 
was  going. 

"You  can  come  to  me  presently,"  Madame  Carouge  said  to  Mo- 
ritz. Then  to  Engemann:  "We  have  not  fixed  any  time,  monsieur; 
that,  1  believe,  Monsieur  Riesen  will  decide.  I  think  w^e  are  to  start 
soon  after  noon,  but  whenever  we  go.  Monsieur  and  Madame  Riesen 
are  to  breakfast  with  me,  and  if  you  will  do  me  that  honor—" 

She  paused;  her  timid,  uncertain  manner  made  a  curious  contrast 
with  her  attitude,  full  of  dignity  and  repose. 

Engemann  bowed  low.  "  You  are  very  kind,"  he  said.  "  It  will 
give  me  much  pleasure  to  join  you.  I  suppose  Thun  is  an  old  story 
to  you." 

"I  have  been  there"— she  looked  grave — "but  I  have  not  been 
on  the  lake.     I  have  never  in  my  life  had  such  a  pleasure." 

It  seemed  to  Monsieur  Engemann,  as  he  watched  her  animated 
face,  that  something  very  like  a  tear  glistened  in  her  eyes. 

"Your  presence,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "will  give  the  day  a 
charm  it  could  not  otherwise  possess."  A  sudden  kindling  in  her 
eyes  made  him  remember  that  Moritz  was  waiting  to  see  his  mis- 
tress.    "  I  must  not  detain  you,"  he  said. 

The  change  in  his  tone  seemed  to  rouse  Madame  Carouge  out  of 
a  dream.  She  had  leaned  forward  a  little,  while  her  eyes  and  her 
slightly  parted  lips  had  been  drinking  in  the  expression  that  had 
gone  with  his  words.  Now  she  stood  erect,  and  her  bow,  as  she 
said  "Good-evening,"  might  have  been  addressed  to  any  ordinary 
visitor.  Monsieur  Engemann  pushed  past  the  bower  of  leaves  that 
circled  the  fountain,  and  then  along  the  passage  that  led  to  the 
entrance. 

Here  he  saw  Moritz,  the  waiter,  standing  with  his  head  bent  on 
one  side,  listening  with  deep  attention  and  hardly  concealed  amuse- 
ment. The  short,  burly  figure  of  Captain  Loigerot  stood  on  the 
mat,  talking  with  much  emphasis. 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE,  37 

"You  must  really  look  to  it,  Moritz,"  the  captain  was  saying. 
"  When  I  wish  to  give  a  friend  a  bottle  of  Liebfrauen  Milch,  I  mean 
to  have  it ;  it  will  not  do  to  give  me  Diedesheimer,  and  to  charge 
me  twice  its  value." 

"Moritz,"  said  Monsieur  Engemann,  "  Madame  Carouge  is  wait- 
ing for  you. " 

The  waiter  bowed  his  thanks  to  the  right,  and  his  excuses  to  the 
left.  "Pardon  me,  monsieur,"  he  said;  "it  shall  be  seen  to,"  and 
he  hurried  back  to  the  glass  fronted  parlor. 

Captain  Loigerot's  voice  had  been  decided,  and  his  gesture  ear- 
nest; but  when  Engemann  looked  at  his  fleshy,  high-colored  face  he 
saw  a  smile  on  it  of  the  most  placid  kind.  This  expression  broad- 
ened into  actual  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  Rudolf  Engemann. 

"Let  us  walk  home  together,"  he  said,  "if  you  are  going  that 
way;  if  not,  I  will  go  yours." 

"I  am  going  home,"  Rudolf  said,  but  he  did  not  seem  delighted 
at  the  prospect  of  a  companion.  Just  then  he  wanted  solitude,  in 
which  he  could  think  of  Madame  Carouge's  eyes,  and  of  all  that 
they  told  him. 

All?  As  he  walked  on  in  silence  by  the  side  of  his  short,  round- 
faced  companion,  who  rolled  along  the  street  like  a  plaster  manda- 
rin, Monsieur  Engemann  began  to  feel  that  there  was  something  he 
did  not  understand  in  the  glances  of  the  beautiful  widow — beautiful 
was  a  poor  word  for  her  seductive  charm.  It  seemed  to  him,  too, 
that  he  had  not  thanked  her  nearly  enough  for  her  goodness — well, 
he  would  mend  that  fault  to-morrow.  But  it  was  wonderful  that 
such  a  woman  could  care  for  his  friendship.  He  felt  unusual  im- 
patience to  see  her  again. 

" — Eh,  don't  you  think  so,  my  friend?"  the  captain  was  say- 
ing. 

"I  beg  your  pardon." 

Engemann  looked  round ;  he  felt  as  if  he  had  waked  up  from  a 
glowing  dream.  On  each  side  of  the  street  were  tall  houses,  arcaded 
along  the  lower  story,  and  he  and  the  captain  were  just  passing  the 
quaint  Clock  Tower,  which,  with  its  pointed  red-tiled  cap  and  little 
magical  figures,  seemed  like  an  old  necromancer  presiding  over  the 
destiny  of  the  city.  Eight  o'clock  was  just  going  to  strike,  and  a 
group  of  people  stood  open-mouthed,  watching  to  see  the  little  bears 
come  out,  and  the  toy  Duke  of  Zahringen  strike  the  hour. 

The  ex-captain's  eyes  twinkled. 

2* 


38  AT    THE    RED    GLOVE. 

"I  was  saying  liow  handsome  our  hostess  is.  You  are  a  lucky 
young  fellow,  Engemann,  if  I  may  say  so." 

Rudolf  laughed  uneasily.  "  You  can  say  what  you  please,  my 
good  friend.  I  have  been  boarding  at  the  Beauregard  these  three 
months  past;  Madame  Carouge  is  not  an  acquaintance  of  yester- 
day." 

Again  the  stout  man's  eyes  twinkled,  and  he  twirled  his  mustache 
as  if  he  thought  by  that  means  to  hide  a  smile. 

"  What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  young"— he  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh 
— "and  " — he  recovered  himself,  and  looked  at  Rudolf  from  head 
to  foot — "and  other  things.  I  have  been  en  pension  at  the  hotel 
for  more  than  six  months,  I  was  a  friend  of  our  fair  hostess's  hus- 
band, and  yet  she  rarely  gives  me  a  crumb  of  notice,  or  a  chance  of 
looking  at  her— eh,  eh!"— here  he  winked,  and  Rudolf  felt  irritable 
again.  "  I  never  receive  a  message  during  dinner  to  say  that  ma- 
dame  wishes  to  see  me  in  her  bureau  as  soon  as  I  have  dined.  Ah! 
you  are  indeed  a  lucky  fellow." 
For  a  minute  or  two  Rudolf  looked  annoyed ;  then  he  too  laughed. 
"  You  do  me  much  honor,  captain.  Madame  Carouge  had  a  mes- 
sage for  me  from  Monsieur  Riesen,  the  clockmaker.  He  is  always 
telling  me  I  want  change,  and  he  offers  me  a  place  in  his  boat  the 
next  time  he  goes  to  Thuu — that  is  all." 

"All?"  the  captain  laughed  till  he  actually  rolled  from  one  side 
of  the  pavement  to  the  other ;  then  he  took  out  a  huge  red  silk 
handkerchief  and  wiped  his  eyes.  "I  ask  pardon,"  he  said.  "I 
had  thought  you  were— what  shall  I  say? — too  young?— in  short, 
that  you  might  stand  in  the  way  of  your  own  good-fortune  by  not 
being  aware  of  your  advantages.  I  see  I  was  mistaken."  He  nod- 
ded with  a  very  satisfied  look,  and  walked  on  in  silence. 

Engemann  felt  nettled,  but  he  was  puzzled  how  to  answer.  He 
could  not  deny  his  admiration  for  Madame  Carouge,  and  yet,  if  he 
confessed  it,  there  was  no  knowing  what  use  the  captain  might  make 
of  his  avowal  Perhaps  he  had  been  too  shy,  and  yet  he  did  not 
feel  that  he  was  to  blame ;  he  shrank  from  being  hurried  into  words 
which  might  pledge  him  to  anything  definite. 

They  had  been  walking  for  the  last  few  minutes  in  the  middle  of 
the  street,  for  it  had  grown  dark  under  the  arcades,  except  where  a 
shop  was  brightly  lighted ;  now  they  passed  a  gray-green  fountain. 
On  it  was  the  colored  figure  of  a  knight  with  his  lance,  standing  on_ 
a  fluted  column. 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  30 

Suddenly  the  captain  broke  out  with:  "  I  saw  such  a  pretty  girl — 
a  stranger  in  Berne — near  the  station  this  morning  !" 

"  Ah,"  said  Engemann,  without  interest.  He  had  not  much  opin- 
ion of  the  captain's  taste  in  beauty, 

Loigerot  had  decided  not  to  tell  Engemann,  or  any  of  the  Ber- 
nese young  fellows  who  frequented  the  Beauregard,  of  his  advent- 
ure with  the  girl ;  but  after  what  he  had  seen  to-day,  with  regard 
to  Madame  Carouge,  he  felt  there  could  be  no  risk  in  telling  Rudolf. 
There  were  two  things  absolutely  necessary  to  Monsieur  Loigerot : 
he  must  have  a  companion;  and  if  he  had  anything  to  tell,  he  must 
have  a  confidant. 

They  were  now  close  to  the  Stork  Fountain,  behind  which,  in  the 
gloom  cast  by  the  arcade,  hung  the  huge  red  glove  over  Madame 
Bobineau's  shop.  The  glove  seemed  to  glower  portentously  in  the 
dim  light. 

One  of  the  shop -windows  was  already  cleared;  the  other  still 
showed  embroidered  handkerchiefs,  lace  ties,  and  other  coUficliets. 
As  the  two  men  stopped  opposite,  the  shop  door  opened,  and  a 
couple  of  women  came  out  into  the  gloom.  One  of  them — unmis- 
takably Madame  Bobineau— closed  the  door  behind  her,  and  the 
captain  and  his  companion  stared  at  the  girl  left  standing  under 
the  arcade.  She  looked  a  tall,  well-made  young  woman ;  her  face 
could  not  be  distinguished.  In  an  instant  the  old  glover  joined  her, 
and  they  passed  together  out  of  sight. 

"  Who  the  devil  has  old  Bobineau  got  with  her?"  said  Loigerot. 
"I  could  make  out  she  is  young,  with  a  good  face  and  figure." 

Engemann  laughed.  "Come,  come,  my  friend,  you  are  drawing 
on  fancy.    I  saw  a  passable  figure.    I  could  make  out  nothing  else. " 

Tlie  captain  gave  his  companion  a  dig  in  the  ribs. 

' '  That  for  your  making  out !  Would  you  pit  a  civilian's  eyes 
against  a  soldier's  where  a  woman  is  concerned?  I  tell  you  that  is 
a  handsome  girl,  and — "  He  checked  himself,  for  Engemann,  sur- 
prised by  his  excitement,  was  looking  at  him  with  an  amused  smile. 
"Never  mind,"  he  said,  quickly;  "I  will  ask  old  Bobineau  all  about 
it  when  she  comes  back. " 

"Good-night,"  said  the  younger  man.  "I  have  work  to  do  to- 
night." 

He  nodded,  and  going  to  the  private  door  of  the  Red  Glove  he 
let  himself  ia 


40  AT  THE   RED   GLOVE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CAPTAIN  LOI6EROT  INDULGES  HIS   CURIOSITY. 

Captain  Loigerot — he  clung  to  his  title— lit  a  fresh  cigar  ;  and 
then  he  walked  resolutely  up  and  down  between  the  corner  house 
and  the  first  break  which  came  among  the  shops  beneath  the  arches. 
Every  now  and  then  on  the  stone  buttresses  which  divided  one 
house  from  the  other,  and  helped  to  support  the  arcade,  a  name  was 
painted  in  large  black  letters.  On  the  stone  pier  beside  the  glover's 
appeared  the  inscription:  "La  Veuve  Bobineau.  Gants  de  Paris 
et  de  Neufchatel,  Broderies,  etc. ;"  and  beneath  was  painted  a  huge 
red  hand,  nearly  as  large  as  that  which  hung  in  front  of  the  shop. 

"Gloves!"  The  captain  looked  meditatively  at  his  bronzed 
hands.  "It  makes  little  difference  to  me  whether  the  shop-girl  is 
pretty  or  ugly;  but  still  it  would  be  refreshing  to  know  that  there 
was  something  younger  in  the  house  than  the  shrivelled  old  Bo- 
bineau and  the  hideous  witch  she  employs.  This  girl  may  be  a 
granddaughter. " 

He  took  another  turn,  and  reflected  that  the  last  time  Lenoir,  the 
hair-dresser,  had  shaved  him,  he  had  said  that  Madame  Bobineau 
had  never  had  a  child.  Some  one  else  had  told  the  captain  that 
Bobineau  himself  was  a  fiction ;  but  Lenoir  denied  this ;  he  and 
Madame  Bobineau  had  both  come  from  Bale,  and  he  had  seen  Bo- 
bineau in  his  youth.  The  glover  had  been  a  miser,  and  it  was  to 
free  herself  from  his  grasping  relatives  that  Madame  Bobineau  had 
followed  Lenoir's  advice  when  he  wrote  from  Berne  and  told  her 
of  a  good  business  for  sale  in  the  Spitalgasse. 

"But  I  certainly  heard  that  the  old  woman  was  wanting  help  in 
the  shop,"  Loigerot  said  to  himself.  "She  shall  teU  me  all  about 
it,  and  whether  the  girl  came  this  forenoon." 

It  has  been  said  that  the  ex-captain  was  forty-five.  When  he  first 
came  to  Berne  he  was  charmed  with  his  well-furnished  first  floor  at 
the  sign  of  the  Red  Glove,  and  with  the  way  in  which  his  meals 
were  served  at  the  Hotel  Beauregard,  but  of  late  he  had  found  life 
rather  dull.     He  had  been  a  good  soldier,  and  he  liked  active  service; 


AT   THE   RED   GLOVE.  41 

but  he  had  risen  from  the  ranks ;  he  was  uncultivated,  and  he  shrank 
from  society.  It  was  this  awkwardness  that  had  kept  him  so  long 
a  distant  admirer  of  his  beautiful  hostess;  she  had  seemed  to  him 
a  superior  being.  Now  he  began  to  blame  himself  for  this  reticence. 
"But  where  would  have  been  the  use,  my  friend  Achille?"  he  said. 
"You  are  not  blind,  and  you  are  susceptible;  you  would  only  have 
destroyed  your  peace :  moths  that  fly  too  near  a  light  end  by  singe- 
ing more  than  their  wings ;  and  the  light  burns  on  and  cheers  some 
one  else — not  a  whit  the  worse  for  the  poor  moth  it  has  shrivelled 
out  of  life.  No,  the  widow  would  never  have  looked  at  me;  but  if 
I  were  Rudolf  Engemann  I  would  go  in  and  win." 

He  snapped  his  fingers  as  he  reached  for  the  third  time  the  turn- 
ing down  which  Madame  Bobineau  and  her  protegee  had  disap- 
peared. 

"If  I  were  a  young  man,"  he  said  again,  "I  could  not  shilly- 
shally as  Engemann  does.  I  have  not  seen  them  together  lately, 
but  I  feel  confident  he  has  only  got  to  propose  for  the  widow  and 
she  will  accept  him.  She  is  constantly  sending  him  a  message 
about  something  or  other,  and  then  I  meet  him  coming  out  of  that 
parlor  of  hers  looking  as  pleased  as  if  he  had  been  made  a  general ; 
if  he  is  spoken  to,  he  has  to  wake  up  out  of  a  dream,  as  he  did  just 
now.  Ma  foi,"  said  the  honest  captain,  "have  I  not  gone  through 
it  over  and  over  again  in  my  time  with  the  young  sub-lieutenants? 
—poor  young  fools,  as  if  the  women  are  not  dying  to  listen  to  them, 
when  they  are  young  and  handsome.    Ah!  if  the  young  only  knew!" 

He  sighed.  Presently  turning  round  on  his  heel,  he  found  him- 
self face  to  face  with  his  landlady. 

Madame  Bobineau  gave  an  obsequious  courtesy,  and  the  captain 
bowed  as  if  she  were  Madame  Carouge  herself.  Though  he  had  no 
advantages  in  the  way  of  breeding,  Monsieur  Loigerot  had  a  natural 
deference  for  women,  even  when  they  were  old. 

"You  are  out  late,  madame,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  yes,  monsieur,  it  is  late."  She  was  hurrying  on  ;  but  he 
placed  himself  beside  her,  and  suited  his  pace  to  hers. 

"You  have  had  an  arrival  to-day."  The  captain  spoke  boldly; 
shy  as  he  was  with  women,  he  was  not  afraid  of  old  Bobineau  in 
the  gloom  of  the  arcade. 

She  started  with  surprise,  but  then  she  remembered  gossiping 
Madame  Riesen,  and  cursed  her  indiscretion. 

"Yes,  monsieur." 


42  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

"The  j'oung  lady  is  ycur  niece,  perhaps.  Ah!  I  congratulate 
you,  madame,  on  so  charming  a  relative.  It  was  perhaps  she  whom 
I  had  the  honor  of  directing  to  your  house  this  morning?" 

Madame  Bobineau  hesitated.  She  intended  Marie  to  be  consid- 
ered as  her  shop-girl;  but  as  she  felt  sure  that  the  captain  would 
speak  of  his  meeting  with  the  girl  to  others,  it  might  save  trouble 
in  some  ways  if  she  let  him  know  that  Marie  belonged  to  her. 

"Monsieur  is  very  kind,"  she  said,  "but  I  think  he  mistakes. 
My  cousin  is  not  a  young  lady— only  a  child,  fresh  from  her  convent." 

"Exactly,"  said  the  captain;  "she  is  as  dainty  as  a  blossom  of 
edelweiss.  You  will  have  to  take  great  care  of  her,  madame,  in 
this  town,  and  in  this  bustling  time  of  year;  those  tourists  are  insuf- 
ferable sometimes  in  their  behavior." 

"Yes,  yes,  monsieur;  I  will  be  careful." 

"  You  see,  you  have  two  young  men  in  the  house,"  Loigerot  went 
on,  pausing  between  his  words. 

"Yes,  monsieur;  but  my  cousin  will  only  be  in  the  shop,  not  in 
the  house,  and  she  will  have  plenty  to  do; -she  will  not  have  time  to 
think  of  young  men." 

"For  that  matter" — the  captain  was  talking  to  himself  as  much 
as  to  Madame  Bobineau — "so  far  as  regards  Monsieur  Engemann 
(this  is  between  ourselves,  madame),  I  think  you  will  soon  have  to 
seek  a  new  inmate  for  your  second  floor." 

He  winked,  but  though  Madame  Bobineau  could  not  see  in  the 
darkness,  she  was  sharp  enough  to  understand,  and  she  was  troubled. 
This  was  the  second  warning  that  had  fallen  on  her  ears  to-day,  and 
the  change  suggested  meant  to  her  more  than  the  loss  of  a  quiet, 
regular  lodger. 

Would  Madame  Carouge,  who,  in  her  desolate,  widowed  state,  had 
shown  herself  so  full  of  sympathy  for  other  widows — would  she, 
Bobineau  asked  herself,  be  as  generous  when  she  became  a  remar- 
ried woman? 

The  shrewd  old  glover  guessed  that  a  large  part  of  the  beautiful 
landlady's  kindness  to  her  arose  from  her  connection  with  Rudolf 
Engemann ;  he  often  brought  her  a  note  or  a  message  from  Madame 
Carouge,  and  sometimes  was  the  bearer  of  a  reply.  Madame  Bobi- 
neau had  no  appetite  for  the  viands  she  had  set  before  Marie,  but 
she  could  eat  greedily,  for  all  that,  in  private,  and  many  a  dainty 
dish  was  smuggled  home  when  she  called,  by  madame's  request,  at 
the  hotel,  on  her  way  from  mass.     Already  she  felt  robbed  in  the 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  43 

prospect  of  such  a  marriage,  and  yet  she  was  bound  not  to  thwart 
it,  lest  Madame  Carouge  should  find  her  out. 

She  looked  stolid  as  she  answered:  "Monsieur  Engemann  has 
said  nothing  to  me,  and  he  would  surely  give  me  notice  of  his  inten- 
tions if  he  meant  to  leave  me. " 

"Ah,  my  good  friend,"  the  captain  said,  gayly,  "you  forget  the 
old  song. "    He  began  to  whistle : 

"  Oh,  c'est  I'amour,  I'amoar,  I'amour  1" 

"  So !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Does  Monsieur  Engemann  think  of  mar- 
rying?   Is  that  your  meaning,  monsieur?" 

They  had  reached  the  Red  Glove,  and  she  was  watching  her  op- 
portunity to  slip  away. 

But  Loigerot  put  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "You  forget,"  he  said: 
"it  is  not  so  long  ago  that  you  agreed  with  me  that  Engemann  and 
our  fair  widow  would  make  a  fine  couple. " 

"But  then,"  she  said,  sweetly,  "I  could  have  said  that  of  monsieur 
himself  in  regard  to  Madame  Carouge." 

Loigerot  reddened,  and  poised  himself  first  on  one  foot,  then  on  the 
other.  He  was  not  much  accustomed  to  personal  compliments,  and 
they  excited  him. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "the  truth  is  that  our  friend  Engemann  is  in 
love  with  the  beauty,  and  I  fancy  she  favors  him." 

"Mon  Dieu!" — Madame  Bobineau  spoke  impulsively,  and  turned 
up  her  ej^es — she  always  did  this  before  uttering  a  virtuous  senti- 
ment; the  action  seemed  to  help  out  her  words — "  can  it  be  possible 
that  so  honorable  a  gentleman,  who  is  yet  but  a  clerk  in  the  bank, 
can  think  of  offering  himself  to  a  woman  of  fortune,  for,  monsieur, 
by  your  leave,  it  is,  I  fancy,  not  only  the  beauty  of  Madame  Carouge 
that  makes  marriage  with  her  desirable,  is  it?" 

This  shaft  told ;  the  captain  stood  open  -  mouthed,  his  feet  wide 
apart,  plunged  in  a  deep  reverie. 

"  Good-night,  monsieur;"  and  Bobineau  disappeared  through  her 
door-way. 

"Great  heavens!"  —  the  captain  slapped  his  thigh  —  "Achille 
Loigerot,  you  have  indeed  been  a  blind  mole.  An  old  toothless 
woman  has  discerned  what  has  been  for  so  long  a  puzzle  to  you ! 
And  Bobineau  is  right.  There  is  the  key  to  the  mystery;  Engemann 
is  too  proud  to  propose  to  a  rich  woman,  and  the  pair  will  go  on 
pining  for  one  another.    Well,  I  am  not  handsome  or  clever,  perhaps, 


44  AT  THE   RED   GLOVE. 

but" — he  put  his  finger  to  his  nose — "I  may  be  able  to  help  these 
lovers.  Ha!  ha! — a  hint  to  one  or  the  other  may  smooth  matters. 
I  like  to  see  people  happy." 

He  took  his  cigar  from  his  lips  to  enjoy  a  laugh,  and  then  walked 
on  to  the  point  at  the  corner  of  the  Spitalgasse  where  he  had  met 
Marie.    He  sighed,  and  turning  back,  went  home,  and  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MARIE'S    LODGING. 


Marie  groped  her  way  up  the  narrow,  uneven  staircase  of  her 
lodging.  In  front  of  her  was  the  man  who  had  opened  the  door, 
and  she  knew  that  the  woman  who  had  stood  beside  him  was  behind 
her.  She  felt  like  a  captive  between  these  two  dirty  jailers,  who,  in 
the  dim  light,  had  looked  to  her  like  some  of  the  beggars  who  came 
to  ask  alms  at  the  gate  of  her  convent  home.  She  could  not  see 
anything  as  she  went  up-stairs  except  a  glimpse  of  the  man's  dirty 
neck  showing  above  a  greasy  brown  coat ;  the  dark  walls  absorbed 
all  the  light  of  the  little  hand-lamp  that  he  carried.  The  smell  of 
the  oil  was  intolerable. 

"Take  care,  mademoiselle,"  a  hoarse  voice  said  behind  her;  "this 
railing  is  broken  away."  , 

Marie  had  just  reached  the  landing,  and  she  saw,  as  the  man  turned 
to  open  a  door,  that  there  was  nothing  to  prevent  any  one  from  slip- 
ping down-stairs  from  the  narrow  ledge  outside  the  room  into  which 
he  had  carried  his  unsavory  lamp.  She  felt  so  anxious  to  get  rid  of 
this  that,  though  she  saw  a  bare,  comfortless  chamber,  she  did  not 
notice  anything  in  detail,  so  intent  was  she  in  feeling  in  the  basket 
she  carried  for  the  candle  and  matches  provided  by  Madame  Bobi- 
neau.     She  found  them,  and  hastily  struck  a  light. 

"I  will  not  take  your  lamp,  thank  you,"  she  said  to  the  man. 
"Good-night."  The  door  closed  on  her  squalid  hosts,  and  then,  as 
the  candle  flickered  into  stronger  light,  Marie  looked  round  her. 
The  flame  led  her  eyes  to  a  black  zigzag  line  above  it — a  crack  in 
the  wall,  which  a  little  way  higher  yawned  into  a  hole.  The  wall 
was  so  black  and  loathsome  in  aspect  that  it  seemed  to  the  girl  as  if 
some  fever  or  disease  lurked  there,  and  that  the  discolored  blisters 
she  saw  upon  it  were  the  outbreak  of  this. 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  45 

She  snatched  up  the  candle,  and  looked  all  round.  Madame  Bo- 
bineau  had  said  that  she  had  sent  bed-coverings,  and  Marie  saw  that 
these  lay  in  a  corner  near  the  dingy  bed.  There  was  a  rickety  table, 
with  a  jug  and  basin,  and  over  it  was  a  little  cracked  mirror  in  a 
tarnished  frame,  and  close  to  her  was  a  wooden  chair.  Setting 
down  the  candle,  she  sank  into  the  chair  in  a  sudden  burst  of  tears. 

"It  is  cruel,  wicked,  to  send  me  to  a  place  like  this.  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do?"  Then  pulling  her  skirt  angrily  away  from  the  dirty 
floor,  she  sobbed  out  her  grief  and  indignation.  "  What  shall  I  do? 
— oh,  what  shall  I  do?"  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  there  was  no 
one  to  whom  Marie  could  go  for  comfort. 

Since  her  mother's  death  she  had  lived  in  long  whitewashed  rooms 
with  bare  floors,  and  certainly  the  plainest  of  needful  furnishings; 
she  had  never  known  luxury  at  the  convent  of  St.  Esprit  in  her  sur- 
roundings; but  in  spite  of  the  plainness  and  of  the  frugal  fare,  the 
cleanliness  and  order  of  the  place  had  been  dainty,  and  Marie  had 
there  enjoyed  the  greatest  of  luxuries — love. 

The  other  girls  brought  up  among  these  kind,  simple  sisters  had 
homes  to  go  to  in  holiday  time,  but  Marie  Peyrolles  had  come  to  the 
convent  a  bright  orphan  child  of  twelve  years  old,  and  had  stayed 
there  ever  since  her  first  arrival. 

Her  godmother  had  loved  Marie's  mother,  and  had  promised  her, 
when  she  died,  to  take  care  of  her  child ;  but  this  benevolent  woman 
was  soon  taken  away  from  her  charge — not,  however,  before  she  had 
bequeathed  a  sum  of  money  to  the  convent  to  provide  for  her  little 
Marie  till  she  was  sixteen  years  old.  Then  the  girl  was  either  to 
become  a  sister  or  to  earn  a  living  by  teaching. 

But  Marie  at  sixteen  was  still  so  very  childish,  and  the  sisters 
loved  her  so  dearly,  that  they  had  no  desire  to  give  her  up.  In  holi- 
day time  she  was  their  pet;  her  very  sauciness  gave  a  charming 
variety  to  the  quiet,  uniform  life  they  led ;  but  she  expressed  no  wish 
to  adopt  their  life. 

At  eighteen  the  girl  grew  restless  and  dissatisfied.  She  did  not 
wish  to  become  a  sister,  and,  indeed,  not  one  of  the  gentle  community 
sought  to  point  out  such  a  life  for  her ;  but  when  she  saw  how  many 
claims  the  convent  had  to  meet,  and  how  in  the  long  snowy  winters, 
poor  as  the  sisters  were,  they  fed  and  clothed  their  poorer  neighbors, 
she  revolted  against  her  idle  life,  and  one  day  she  begged  the  Su- 
perior to  write  to  her  father's  old  cousin. 

"You  know,  Mother,"  she  said, "  I  could  never  gain  my  living  by 


43  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

teaching.  Sister  Josepha  lias  given  me  up.  She  says  the  children 
will  not  mind  me;  they  only  laugh.  But  I  am  strong,  and  I  can 
work.  I  need  not  be  the  burden  to  my  cousin  that  I  am  to  you, 
though  you  will  not  tell  me  so. " 

At  first  the  Superior  refused  to  listen  to  her,  and  Marie  had  to 
withdraw  her  petition ;  but  she  confided  her  wishes  to  the  sisters, 
and  little  by  little  a  feeling  grew  up  in  the  convent  that  Marie  Pey- 
roUes  wanted  to  leave  it. 

Perhaps  she  did.  She  loved  her  kind  friends  as  dearly  as  ever, 
but  something — a  vague  restlessness  that  as  yet  took  no  shape — be- 
gan to  trouble  the  young  girl's  dreams  at  night  and  her  waking 
thoughts  by  day. 

When  she  roused  from  these  she  found  she  had  been  wondering 
about  Berne,  and  about  the  glover's  shop  in  the  Spitalgasse,  and 
about  the  unknown  cousin  who  sent  her  every  New-year's  Day  a 
box  of  sweetmeats. 

And  then  the  next  time  she  asked  to  go  away,  the  Superior  told 
her  that  she  had  written  to  Madame  Bobineau,  and  was  expecting  a 
reply  to  her  letter. 

For  an  instant  a  chill  fell  on  Marie ;  but  there  followed  such  a 
thronging  in  of  fluttering  hopes  and  shy  expectation  that  she  felt 
scarcely  able  to  eat  or  drink,  or  to  fix  her  attention  on  anything, 
till  one  morning  she  was  summoned  to  the  Superior's  room  to  hear 
her  fate. 

This  had  happened  so  few  days  ago  that  it  seemed  like  a  dream. 
Only  out  of  the  excited  feelings  which  made  this  episode  seem  so 
unreal  there  stood  out  in  her  memory  the  Superior's  last  words — a 
little  sermon  Marie  had  then  called  it,  tender  wisdom  she  now  felt  it 
— and  her  tears  began  to  flow  again  as  she  repeated  the  words  to 
herself. 

"  We  grieve  to  lose  you,  my  child,  because  we  love  you.  I  hope 
you  will  meet  with  love  in  your  new  home ;  but,  Marie,  you  must 
try  to  love  those  with  whom  you  have  to  live ;  it  is  not  always  easy, 
for  love,  to  be  perfect,  demands  all  the  powers  of  the  soul."  Marie 
remembered  that  she  had  looked  up  questioningly  at  this,  and  the 
Mother  had  added,"  Yes,  my  child,  love  to  God  does  not  interfere 
with,  though  it  purifies  and  elevates,  earthly  love,  to  which  it  sets  a 
copy.  As  you  shrink  from  all  that  would  pain  those  you  love,  and 
strive  by  word,  look,  and  action  to  give  happiness  to  another,  you 
will  be  helped  to  grow  careful  about  your  faults  from  love.     You 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  47 

must  love  something,  Marie,  and  love  of  those  we  live  with  keeps 
the  door  of  our  hearts  shut  against  the  love  of  money  and  the  love 
of  self. " 

"It  sounds  beautiful,"  poor  Marie  sobbed.  "It  is  just  like  them 
all.  How  could  one  help  loving  them?  And  oh,  how  can  I  love 
Madame  Bobiueau  when  she  puts  me  in  a  place  like  this?"  she  said, 
with  an  angry  shiver  of  disgust,  as  she  looked  at  the  dirty  floor. 
' '  I  cannot  love  her,  and  I  will  not, "  she  went  on ;  "  she  ought  to 
lodge  me  in  her  own  house.  The  Mother  could  not  know  that  I 
was  going  to  be  lodged  in  a  dirty  garret,  or  she  would  not  have  sent 
me.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  go  back  to  Lucerne  at  once.  Ahl  if 
I  had  not  been  a  monster  of  ingratitude,  I  should  never  have  left 
St.  Esprit." 

And  then  she  cried  again  bitterly.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  was 
justly  punished.  If  she  had  never  asked  to  leave,  the  sisters  would 
never  have  sent  her  away,  and  she  might  have  worked  harder  for 
them  if  she  had  tried.  It  was  her  own  fault:  she  liaa  wanted  to  see 
what  the  outside  world  was  like;  and  she  had  got  her  wish.  If 
people  were  all  like  Madame  Bobineau,  then,  indeed,  the  convent 
was  the  happiest  place. 

It  had  grown  dark  while  she  sat  crying,  and  at  last,  worn  out  and 
unhappy,  Marie  determined  to  go  to  bed.  Perhaps  life  would  look 
less  gloomy  next  morning. 

When  she  lay  down  it  seemed  impossible  to  believe  that  she  had 
only  left  the  convent  that  morning.  She  did  not  go  to  sleep  at 
once.  All  her  little  escapades  and  follies  rose  up  before  her,  and 
in  the  darkness  took  exaggerated  importance.  No  wonder,  she  said 
to  herself,  that  the  sisters  were  all  glad  to  be  rid  of  such  a  tiresome, 
teasing  girl !  Oh,  how  could  she  have  so  tormented  them !  Her 
cheeks  grew  hot  with  shame,  and  it  began  to  be  evident  to  her  that 
only  their  goodness  had  tolerated  her ;  in  their  hearts  they  must 
have  been  glad  at  her  departure. 

She  could  not  sleep,  her  heart  felt  so  heavy.  She  turned  restless- 
ly, and  cooled  her  hot  cheek  on  the  pillow.  The  movement  let 
light  in  upon  her  trouble.  The  sisters  had  not  seemed  glad  to  let 
her  go;  they  had  said  they  were  sorry,  and  they  always  spoke  the 
truth.  Then  she  let  her  thoughts  dwell  on  the  leave-taking  :  the 
tender  kisses,  the  Mother's  pretty  gift — a  daintily  furnished  work- 
basket — the  kind,  loving  looks  of  all,  except  perhaps  Sister  Monique. 
.  .  .And  soon  the  tired  child  fell  asleep. 


48  AT  THE    BED   GLOVB. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A    MORNING    "WALK. 

Morning  sunshine  came  streaming  into  the  dirty  little  room, 
showing  other  horrid  cracks  in  the  soiled  wall,  and  also  showing 
that  the  window  which  admitted  this  warm  brilliance  had  a  suffi- 
cient blind  of  cobwebs. 

Soon  the  brightness  travelled  across  Marie's  coverlet,  and  reached 
the  dark  eyelashes  which  almost  touched  her  flushed  cheeks;  they 
clung  together,  parted  into  clusters,  telling  tales  of  last  night's  tears. 

Sleeping  there,  one  soft  clieek  resting  in  her  pink  palm,  Marie 
looked  like  a  peaceful  child ;  care  had  left  no  trace  on  her  fair,  soft 
skin.  But  the  sunshine  reached  her  eyes,  and  she  opened  them ;  a 
gaze  of  unrecognizing  wonder  showed  in  their  gray  depths  as  she 
looked  widely  round  her. 

She  started  up,  and  then,  with  a  grimace  at  the  dirty  floor,  she 
soon  dressed  herself.  She  heard  the  clock  strike  five;  opening  her 
door,  she  heard  sounds  in  the  house  that  told  her  some  one  was 
awake.  While  dressing  she  had  decided  to  ask  the  woman  of  the 
house  to  clean  her  room,  and  she  went  down-stairs  to  find  her. 

"  Come  in,"  a  voice  called  out  from  a  den  under  the  stairs,  and 
then  the  woman's  miserable  face  showed  —  a  pale  patch  in  the 
gloom. 

Marie  thought  she  looked  much  dirtier  than  she  had  looked  last 
night.  It  seemed  to  the  girl  that  cleanliness  could  not  be  expected 
from  her  hostess.  She  would  not  know  how  to  practise  it.  The 
girl  stood  thinking.  Presently  she  said:  "  Can  I  have  a  pail  and 
some  water?  You  will  perhaps  show  me  where  to  go  to  draw  wa- 
ter?" 

"  Yes."  The  woman  brought  her  a  pail,  a  cleaner  one  than  Marie 
expected,  and  then  opening  the  house  door,  she  showed  the  girl  a 
small  fountain  against  the  high  wall  opposite.  Marie  found  herself 
in  a  paved  court  with  this  wall  in  front  of  the  houses ;  at  one  end 
was  a  very  narrow  passage  between  the  walls,  at  the  other  the  steep 
flight  of  steps  she  had  come  down  last  night. 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  49 

Marie  felt  amused.  The  fresh  morning  air  revived  her  spirits. 
Some  girls  in  picturesque  Bernese  costumes  were  filling  their  pitch- 
ers and  chatting  merrily  by  the  fountain. 

They  nodded  to  her  and  said  good-morning;  then,  as  she  went  back 
slowly  to  the  house,  with  her  full  pail,  they  wondered  who  she  was. 

Marie  was  doubtful  whether  she  should  be  able  to  clean  her  floor. 
"  There's  nothing  like  trying,"  she  said,  laughing  to  herself. 

At  the  convent  she  had  been  taught  to  cook  and  to  sew  and  to 
embroider,  but  she  had  not  been  allowed  to  do  house -work,  even 
when  she  grew  too  old  for  school  lessons.  There  was  no  need,  the 
kind  sisters  had  said,  and  it  would  spoil  her  hands  for  embroidery. 
She  felt  like  a  child  with  a  new  toy  as  she  tucked  up  her  skirts  and 
bared  her  white,  well-shaped  arms.  She  had  only  a  bit  of  flannel 
to  scrub  with  and  a  sponge.  It  was  not  easy  work.  She  had  to  go 
over  the  floor  three  times  before  she  could  clear  away  the  dirt.  Her 
face  was  very  red  and  hot,  and  her  loosened  hair  fell  over  her  eyes, 
before  she  had  finished. 

She  had  used  up  the  bit  of  soap  bestowed  on  her  by  Madame  Bo- 
bineau,  and  she  had  several  times  emptied  and  then  refilled  her  pail. 

More  than  once  she  longed  to  give  up,  but  she  persevered,  and  at 
last  all  was  done.  Marie  felt  sick  and  exhausted,  but  at  least  her 
floor  and  her  window  were  clean;  so  was  the  table  and  chair,  and 
everything  else  that  could  be  washed. 

It  must  be  owned  that  there  was  a  good  deal  of  damp,  but  there 
was  also  a  wholesome  smell  of  soap  and  water;  the  close  mustiness 
of  the  atmosphere  had  been  banished,  and  the  warm  sun,  streaming 
in  through  the  open  window,  would,  Marie  hoped,  soon  remove  the 
general  sloppiness. 

Then  she  looked  ruefully  at  the  long  black  cracks  in  the  walls. 

"  If  I  could  only  get  some  paper  and  paste,"  she  said,  "I  would 
hide  away  those  gaping  cracks.     I  am  afraid  I  can't  clean  the  walls." 

She  smoothed  her  hair,  tidied  herself,  and  then  went  out. 

Madame  Bobineau  had  told  her  to  come  to  the  Red  Glove  at  half- 
past  seven,  and  she  had  still  time  for  a  walk.  Going  up  the  flight 
of  steps,  she  found  herself  on  a  level  with  the  rest  of  the  town,  and 
she  knew  that  if  she  went  straight  on  she  should  reach  the  big  tower 
which  Madame  Bobineau  had  pointed  out  last  night  as  a  landmark. 
But  she  need  not  go  yet  to  Madame  Bobineau's. 

Marie  had  never  gone  out  alone  till  yesterday,  and  even  then  an 
old  priest  had  conveyed  her  as  far  as  Olten.     There  was  a  delicious 


50  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

sense  of  freedom  in  this  ramble  in  the  freshness  of  early  morning. 
She  turned  round,  and  went  along  the  street  built  on  the  top  of  the 
high  wall  which  faced  her  lodging.  There  were  pretty  cottages 
here,  with  flowers  in  every  window,  making  a  glory  of  scarlet  and 
orange  in  the  sunshine.  At  the  end  of  the  street  she  came  to  a  sort 
of  circular  terrace,  with  a  tree  in  its  centre  ;  leaning  against  the 
parapet  of  this  terrace  were  some  working  -  men.  Marie  looked 
about  her  to  see  what  they  were  gazing  at. 

The  platform  looked  down  the  high,  steep  bank  on  to  the  blue- 
green  river ;  on  each  side  through  the  trees  were  the  houses  of 
Berne,  and  across  the  river  the  green  banks  again  rose  steeply ;  but 
the  men  were  not  gazing  at  the  river  or  the  town,  and  Marie's  eyes 
followed  theirs  upward  to  the  horizon.  She  gave  a  little  cry,  and 
an  old  gray-headed  workman  turned  and  nodded  at  her  with  an  ap- 
proving smile. 

"Aha!"  he  said;  "you  have  luck;  it  is  not  often  like  this." 

Before  her  in  the  distance  was  a  long  line  of  glittering  light — the 
peaks  of  the  snow  giants  glistening  in  silver  brilliance  high  up  in 
the  sky.  No  threatening  clouds  dimmed  their  grandeur  ;  the  sky 
was  bright  and  clear;  it  seemed  as  if  silver  fire  burned  within  the 
range  of  mountains. 

Marie  forgot  all  about  her  bedroom  and  her  employer.  She  was 
entranced  with  the  scene  before  her.  Once  more  she  felt  at  home 
again  ;  for  at  St.  Esprit  she  had  called  the  snow  mountains  her 
friends.  These  were  not  the  same,  but  they  were  more  lovely,  she 
thought.  They  sent  a  thrill  through  her.  Ah,  how  she  wished 
they  did  not  look  so  far  off! 

"Ahem!" 

A  discreet  cough  made  her  turn  to  see  who  stood  next  her.  A 
hat  was  being  raised  in  her  honor,  and  a  broad,  bronzed  face  was 
beaming  with  pleasure,  till  the  small  eyes  in  it  narrowed.  In  a  min- 
ute she  recognized  the  stout  gentleman  who  had  spoken  to  her  yes- 
terday in  the  Spitalgasse,  and  she  smiled  in  answer  to  his  greeting. 

"  Good-morning,  mademoiselle,"  said  Loigerot.  "I  need  not  ask 
if  you  have  slept  well,  for  you  look  as  fresh  as  the  mountains  do. 
I  heard  of  your  safe  arrival  at  the  Red  Glove  from  my  good  friend, 
Madame  Bobineau." 

"  You  know  her?"  said  Marie,  quickly. 

"I  have  that  honor."  He  bowed  again.  "Mademoiselle,  it  is 
my  good-fortune  to  lodge  in  the  house  of  Madame  Bobineau."    He 


'good-morning,  mademoiselle,    said  LOIGEROT. 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  53 

held  his  head  very  stiffly,  and  made  a  pause  between  each  sentence, 
as  if  he  looked  back  at  it,  and  made  sure  that  no  correction  was 
needed.  "Mademoiselle,"  he  went  on,  finding  that  Marie's  eyes 
were  again  fixed  on  the  mountains,  "  is  perhaps  on  her  way  to  the 
Red  Glove.  May  I  have  the  honor" — he  took  off  his  hat  and  re- 
mained uncovered  while  he  finished  his  sentence — "  of  walking  so 
far  with  mademoiselle?" 

There  was  a  certain  military  swagger  about  the  captain,  spite  his 
humility,  and  he  had  taken  up  so  much  space  in  bowing  to  Marie, 
with  his  feet  planted  widely  apart,  that  the  working-men  leaning 
against  the  parapet  turned  round  to  look,  and  were  now  smiling  at 
the  stout  middle-aged  man's  admiration  for  the  young  girl,  who 
seemed  so  unconscious  of  it.  The  captain  only  saw  Marie,  but  the 
girl  felt  annoyed  at  the  attention  he  had  drawn  on  her. 

"You  are  very  kind,  monsieur,"  she  said,  "but  I  am  late,  and 
shall  have  to  go  much  faster  than  you  would  care  to  go;  so  I  will 
say  good-morning.     I  thank  you  very  much." 

She  bowed  and  turned  away,  while  the  captain  stood  with  his 
mouth  open,  trying  to  form  a  new  sentence. 

"  Confound  it!"  was  the  next  sentence  he  produced;  and  he  stood 
with  his  stumpy  legs  wider  apart  than  ever,  staring  after  her. 
"Well,"  he  said,  philosophically,  "it  doesn't  signify.  I  shall  certainly 
see  her  again.  Berne  is  not  so  large  as  all  that,  and  when  I  deter- 
mine to  do  a  thing,  usually  I  do  it."  Then  he  paused,  and  a  sudden 
idea  made  his  eyes  twinkle.  "I  believe  I  want  a  pair  of  gloves," he 
said  to  himself.  This  was  evidently  such  a  huge  joke  that  he  went 
rolling  along  the  pavement,  laughing  till  his  face  looked  like  a  cop- 
per full  moon. 

At  the  angle  of  the  street,  however,  a  big  yellow  dog,  that  had  just 
been  unfastened  from  a  milk-cart,  flew  at  him.  The  captain  grasped 
it  by  the  collar,  and  shook  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  puppy.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  owner,  a  stalwart  young  peasant,  who  stood  bending 
over  his  tall,  flat,  wooden  milk-pails,  without  an  attempt  to  call  off 
his  dog. 

"Ah,  my  friend,"  said  Loigerot,  "how  is  it  your  dog  has  slipped 
his  muzzle?  or  do  you  forget  that  we  are  in  August?  Attention, 
my  friend." 

And  then  he  went  smiling  along  the  street.  Berne  had  shaken 
off  its  dulness  for  him.  It  held  within  it  the  possibility  of  an  ad- 
venture. 


PART    II. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AT    BREAKFAST. 


Rudolf  Engemann  was 
breakfasting  at  the  Hotel  Beau- 
regard. The  dining-room  open- 
ed from  the  spacious  landing  at 
the  top  of  the  first  flight  of 
stairs;  the  breakfast  -  room  was 
on  the  ground-floor,  on  the  left 
of  the  stair-foot,  and  it  faced 
the  gi'een  inner  hall  where  ma- 
dame's  palms  and  ferns,  lighted 
by  the  lantern  at  the  top  of  the 
well  staircase,  made  such  a  pleas- 
ant screen  to  her  parlor,  which, 
as  has  been  said,  was  glass-front- 
ed at  the  end  facing  the  stair- 
case. Madame  Carouge  could 
see,  if  she  chose,  every  one  who 
came  down  the  broad  well  stair- 
case without  being  seen;  but 
there  was  no  window  in  her 
room  on  the  side  which  faced 
the  double  doors  of  the  break- 
fast-room. 

Captain  Loigerot  came  brisk- 
ly into  the  hotel  this  morning, 
with  the  intention  of  seeing 
Madame  Carouge;  but  just  as 
he  reached  the  corner  leading 
to  her  sanctum  the  folding-doors 
on  his  left  were  flung  open  by 


AT  THE   KED   GLOVE.  55 

Moritz.  Monsieur  Loigerot  had  time,  while  the  waiter  answered 
some  one  over  his  shoulder,  to  see  into  the  breakfast-room,  and  to 
recognize  his  acquaintance  Rudolf  Engemann  busily  engaged  in 
eating  at  one  of  the  small  tables  placed  about  the  room. 

This  sight  changed  the  ex-captain's  intentions;  the  chance  of  a 
gossip  was  not  one  to  be  given  up  easily,  and  although  he  never 
made  his  own  breakfast  till  much  nearer  noon,  he  rolled  into  the 
room,  and  nodding  to  one  or  two  dinner-table  acquaintances,  he 
seated  himself  at  Rudolf's  little  table. 

"Good-morning,  my  friend," he  said.  " I  have  something  to  tell 
you." 

"Eh!"  the  young  man  said,  gayly.  "Are  you  going  to  change 
your  habits,  my  friend,  and  breakfast  with  the  rest  of  us?" 

Loigerot  shook  his  head,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  front  of  his 
tightly  buttoned  coat. 

"Not  if  I  know  it."  He  leaned  back  and  laughed  in  the  deliber- 
ate manner  that  seemed  to  give  him  so  much  enjoyment.  "I  re- 
spect my  digestion,  and — my  figure.  Aha!  you  laugh,  my  young 
friend;  wait  till  you  are  forty  or  thereabouts,  and  then  see  what 
will  be  the  result  of  these  cups  of  boiling  cafe  an  laii  that  you  so 
freely  indulge  in  in  the  early  morning.  If  I  so  indulged  my  appe- 
tites, mon  Dieu  !  I  should  soon  resemble  the  glass  ball  in  the  garden 
at  the  Schanzli,  and  should  be  able  to  roll  along  the  streets  of  Berne 
without  making  use  of  my  legs." 

He  leaned  back  at  this  and  laughed  so  heartily  that  the  men  at 
the  other  tables  joined  in  chorus;  even  the  girl  who  gave  out  the 
coffee,  who  happened  to  be  crossing  the  room,  stopped  to  enjoy  the 
captain's  merriment. 

Rudolf  grew  a  little  impatient  of  it ;  he  wanted  to  get  a  few 
words  with  the  charming  widow  before  he  went  to  his  office;  but 
he  felt  obliged  to  wait  for  the  captain's  communication.  At  last 
Loigerot  stopped,  and  pulled  out  a  big  red  pocket-handkerchief  and 
wiped  his  eyes. 

"Ta,  ta,"  he  said.  "Well,  Monsieur  Engemann,  most  haste  is 
not  always  best  speed.  If  you  had  stayed  behind  last  night  and  kept 
me  company,  you  would  have  heard  something." 

Monsieur  Loigerot  had  by  nature  a  loud  voice,  and  his  effort  to 
lower  its  tone  as  he  made  this  communication  only  served  to  make 
the  other  breakfasters  listen  for  what  was  to  come. 

"I  was  right" — the  captain  leaned  forward  and  looked  impor- 

3 


56  AT    TUE    RED    GLOVE. 

tant;  Engemann  did  not  answer;  and  he  went  on:  "I  found  out  I 
was  right.  The — the  young  person  I  had  seen  in  the  morning  was 
the  cousin  expected  by  Madame  Bobineau.  Aha  !  what  say  you 
now,  my  boy?"  He  patted  Rudolf's  shoulder.  "It  was  she  you 
saw,  and  pretended  that  you  saw  she  was  not  pretty. " 

Rudolf  felt  amused.  Glancing  across  the  room,  he  saw  that 
two  of  his  fellow-clerks,  who  were  also  pensionnaires  at  the  hotel, 
were  stifling  their  laughter,  and  were  evidently  listening  to  the 
captain's  story.  Engemann  looked  at  his  moon-faced,  rotund  com- 
panion, and  decided  that  his  taste  in  beauty  would  not  be  refined  or 
hard  to  satisfy. 

"I  forget  where  you  saw  her," he  said,  "or  what  she  was  like — 
tall  and  stout,  I  fancy,  a  fine  figure,  eh?"  His  mocking  smile  was, 
however,  lost  on  the  captain. 

"Tall — yes,  she  is  tall,  and  upright  as  a  pole;  but  she  is  slim, 
graceful  too,  everything  that  a  young  woman  should  be.     She — " 

He  stopped  abruptly ;  he  was  about  to  relate  his  morning  advent- 
ure, when  he  became  aware  that  Moritz,  the  head-waiter,  was  stand- 
ing not  far  off,  and  probably  overhearing  what  he  said. 

"I  congratulate  you,  captain,"  said  Engemann.  "You  will  no 
longer  complain  of  the  dulness  of  Berne,  if  this  charming  creature 
stay  in  it." 

Loigerot  flushed  up  to  his  little  eyes.  He  went  on  in  a  lower 
voice:  "Did  I  not  tell  you?  She  has  come  here  exjiressly  to  help 
our  friend  Madame  Bobineau  to  sell  her  gloves.  She  is  not  to 
lodge  in  the  house  ;  madame  says  there  is  no  room.  But " — here 
the  captain  put  his  finger  to  his  nose  and  looked  knowing — "  but  I 
agree  with  our  hostess — lodgings  are  better;  besides,  the  going  to 
and  fro  gives  opportunities." 

He  became  so  very  red,  and  looked  so  suddenly  discomfited,  that 
Engemann  could  not  help  laughing,  and  the  two  fellow-clerks  joined 
in  chorus. 

Loigerot  got  up  from  his  seat,  and  stuffed  his  hands  into  his  pock- 
ets as  he  walked  to  the  window. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  captain."  Rudolf  laid  down  his  napkin 
and  followed  him.  "But  you  don't  seem  to  have  lost  time,  if  she 
only  arrived  yesterday,  and  you  talk  of  opportunities  already." 

"  I  did  not  say  / had  lost  time,"  said  Loigerot,  gravely.  "I  only 
said  you  had  done  so.  I  have  told  you  all  I  had  to  tell  you,  young 
man." 


'  4  i. 


THE    CAPTAIN    LEANED    FORWARD    AND    LOOKED    IMPORTANT. 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  59 

He  turned  his  back  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  He  was 
vexed  with  himself ;  he  did  not  mean  to  have  said  so  much  ;  and 
yet  he  must  have  told  some  one,  and  Engemann  was  so  evidently- 
infatuated  with  Madame  Carouge  that  he  was  the  best  confidant  he 
could  have  chosen.  The  other  men  had  laughed,  but  they  had  not 
understood  him — no,  he  felt  sure  they  had  not.  Monsieur  Loigerot 
had  no  idea  that  he  spoke  so  loud ;  still,  he  did  not  want  to  surround 
this  young  girl  with  a  crowd  of  foolish  admirers,  and  he  thought  the 
safe  plan  would  be  to  let  Engemann  leave  the  breakfast-room  before 
he  himself  did,  so  that  he  might  have  no  temptation  to  repeat  what 
he  had  been  listening  to,  to  these  young  fellows. 

Loigerot  stood  still,  therefore,  at  the  window;  there  was  always 
something  going  on  in  the  street  just  below  it,  and  to-day  he  was 
charmed  by  the  sight  of  three  peasant  girls,  who  stood  gazing  at  the 
showy  mock-silver  chains,  medals,  and  brooches  in  a  glass  case  in 
front  of  a  shop  across  the  way. 

"Pretty,  unwise  creatures,"  the  captain  thought:  "they  wish  to 
have  these  trinkets  because  they  shine.  Bah!  they  shine  now,  but 
in  a  few  weeks  they  will  be  tarnished  and  dull,  if  indeed  they  do 
not  show  they  are  but  brass,  or  worse.  It  is  the  way  with  the  young; 
the  outside  look,  that  is  all  they  care  for,  whether  it  be  in  a  husband 
or  a  bodice  chain." 

He  sighed,  and  then  seeing  that  Engemann  had  departed,  he  too 
went  out  to  say  a  few  words  to  Madame  Carouge.  The  door  of 
her  room  stood  open,  and  Loigerot  heard  her  voice.  She  was  speak- 
ing so  very  earnestly  that  he  did  not  like  to  go  forward.  He  knew 
that  she  could  see  him  if  she  looked  that  way,  so  he  stood  watching 
the  trickle  of  the  fountain,  many-colored  as  the  light  fell  on  it,  and 
the  moving  reflected  light  on  the  palm  fronds  near  it. 

"Ah,  monsieur,"  the  rich  full  voice  went  on  within  the  room, 
"you  are  too  kind  in  your  thanks;  it  is  I,  on  the  contrary,  who  have 
to  thank  you  for  the  pleasant  talks  which  brighten  my  monotonous 
life." 

Loigerot  was  too  discreet  to  turn  his  head ;  he  could  not,  therefore, 
see  the  sweet  expression  that  filled  the  widow's  dark  eyes  as  she 
raised  them  to  look  at  Rudolf  Engemann.  The  look  thrilled  through 
the  young  fellow,  and  seemed  to  draw  his  heart  out  of  him.  He  felt 
perplexed  and  agitated  as  his  eyes  met  that  deep,  liquid  glance,  at 
once  so  tender  and  so  beseeching.  He  had  heard  people  say  that 
Madame  Carouge  had  flashing  eyes,  but  now  the  fire  was  quenched 


60  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

by  a  subdued  sweetness,  in  harmony  with  the  careless  grace  of  her 
attitude  as  slie  leaned  back  on  her  little  sofa.  One  hand  lay  in  her 
lap,  and  Rudolf  found  himself  looking  at  her  wedding  -  ring,  and 
wondering  whether  she  had  been  happy  with  her  husband. 

"  Is  your  life  monotonous,  then?"  he  said. 

Loigerot  could  not  help  sniggering  at  the  change  in  the  young 
man's  voice.  " Mon  Dieu!  he  would  do  for  a  stage  lover,"  he 
thought,  over  the  palm  leaves ;  but  he  did  not  like  his  position,  and 
as  it  was  evident  he  had  escaped  notice  in  the  preoccupation  of  the 
two  within  the  parlor,  he  went  softly  back  to  the  corner,  and  then 
down  to  the  entrance  door,  where  he  saw  Moritz  talking  to  some 
new  arrivals. 

Rudolf's  question  was  not  answered  at  once ;  madame  sat  thinking. 
She  put  up  one  hand  and  let  her  soft  rounded  chin  nestle  between 
an  outspread  thumb  and  finger,  thereby  showing  exquisite  curves 
from  the  round  supple  wrist  to  the  pointed  little  finger,  and  the  rosy 
hollowed  palm.  Rudolf  thought  how  nectarine  -  like  her  cheek 
glowed  against  her  dark  lashes  as  she  sat  thinking,  her  head  bent  a 
little  forward. 

"You  are  right,"  she  said  at  last.  "  Men  who  think  can  always 
put  the  right  word.  I  meant  to  convey  the  feeling  which  my  life 
gives  me.  Ah  yes,  you  are  right,  monsieur.  There  is  plenty  of  va- 
riety in  it,  and  I  ought  not  to  complain.  Complaint  is  always  use- 
less, and  disagreeable  to  others." 

She  spoke  very  sadly. 

"  I  do  not  see  how  one  can  get  on  without  complaining  some- 
times," he  said,  simply,  and  with  a  consciousness  that  somehow  he 
had  reproved  her.  "  I  think  people  are  foolish  who  keep  all  their 
grievances  to  themselves." 

She  looked  up  with  a  bright  smile. 

"And  yet,"  she  said,  "you  never  speak  of  yours,  and  in  this  life 
no  one  can  hope  to  escape  them." 

A  cough  and  then  a  loud  scraping  of  the  throat  disturbed  her  and 
checked  Rudolf's  answer.  Madame  Carouge  rose  up  from  the  sofa 
and  came  forward  to  the  door.  Captain  Loigerot  stood  outside, 
beaming  with  satisfaction;  he  bowed  as  low  as  his  figure  would 
permit  of. 

' '  I  had  the  honor  of  receiving  a  message  from  you  last  night,  ma- 
dame," he  said,  "conveyed  to  me  by  Moritz,  that  you  wished  to  see 
me  to-day." 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  61 

Madame  Carouge  bowed.  ' '  Monsieur  is  too  kind, "  slie  said,  grave- 
ly; "I  had  not  thought  of  disturbing  him  so  early  as  this.  I  told 
Moritz  that  if  you  could  spare  me  five  minutes  before  dinner  I  should 
be  very  glad  to  ask  Madame  Bobineau  to  call  in  to-morrow  as  she 
goes  home  from  mass,  if  you  will  have  the  great  kindness  to  convey 
her  my  request." 

Loigerot  put  his  hand  on  his  heart.  "  I  am  always  at  your  serv- 
ice, madame,"  he  said,  effusively.  "Morning  or  night,  I  am  only 
too  happy  to  execute  your  commands  whenever  you  honor  me  with 
them." 

His  brow,  as  he  spoke,  was  something  to  see.  Involuntarily  Ma- 
dame Carouge  took  a  step  back  as  his  bald  crown  bent  itself  into 
view. 

' '  Ah,  monsieur,  I  do  not  know  how  to  answer  you, "  she  said,  soft- 
ly, "unless  I  say.  See  what  it  is  to  be  a  soldier!" 

Rudolf  Engemann  had  been  impatiently  awaiting  an  opportunity 
of  taking  his  leave;  Madame  Carouge  looked  back  at  him  with  a 
smile. 

"I  must  say  good-day,  madame,"  he  said.  "I  did  not  know  it 
was  so  late." 

"Aha!"  As  Rudolf  passed  him,  Loigerot  looked  up  and  winked 
his  right  eye.  "  Time  passes  quickly  when  we  are  pleasantly  en- 
gaged." 

Then  he  rubbed  his  hands  and  chuckled  so  loudly  that  the  sound 
followed  Engemann  to  the  entrance  door,  and  made  him  hurry  up 
the  street  at  a  much  quicker  pace  than  usual.  Madame  Carouge  re- 
mained silent,  and  Loigerot  remembered  with  confusion  that  she  had 
perhaps  enjoyed  her  iete-a-UU  as  much  as  Engemann  had. 

He  became  grave  in  an  instant.  "Then  madame  wishes  me  to 
say  to  Madame  Bobineau  that  she  is  to  have  the  pleasure  of  calling 
here  to-morrow." 

' '  I  thank  you,  monsieur. "  She  courtesied,  and  drew  back  into  her 
room,  as  if  to  say  that  the  interview  was  over.  She  was  surprised 
when  Loigerot  followed  her  in.  Coming  up  close  beside  her,  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice, 

"Have  you  heard  about  Madame  Bobineau's  cousin,  madame?" 

The  widow's  heavy  eyebrows  drew  nearer  to  each  other ;  Mon- 
sieur Loigerot  had  seldom  ventured  across  her  threshold.  Monsieur 
Engemann  was  the  only  male  guest  who  came  farther  than  the  door- 
way as  a  right,  unless,  indeed,  it  was  Riesen  the  clockmaker;  but 


62  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE, 

then  be  was  a  neighbor,  and  be  regulated  all  the  clocks  of  the 
hotel. 

"No,  monsieur,"  she  said,  stiflfly;  "I  rarely  see  Madame  Bobi- 
neau." 

Loigerot  was  too  much  bent  on  telling  his  news  to  care  for  the 
stiff  tone  in  which  she  spoke,  though  at  another  time  it  might  have 
caught  his  ear. 

' '  Ah !" — he  lowered  his  voice  still  more ;  ' '  then  you  have  some- 
thing to  see.  A  young  girl  arrived" — be  stopped  suddenly;  the 
widow's  lower  lip  was  full  of  scorn:  indeed,  even  the  captain,  who 
was  rather  obtuse  in  perception,  could  not  fail  to  see  that  Madame 
Carouge  felt  no  interest  whatever  in  the  young  girl  he  had  been 
about  to  describe. 

"  Indeed!"  she  said.  "  Then  I  may  count  on  your  delivering  my 
message.     Thank  you  again,  monsieur,  for  your  condescension." 

She  was  too  polite  to  seat  herself  at  her  desk,  but  the  captain  felt 
that  he  was  expected  to  go  away. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A    FAINT    HEART. 


Rudolf  Engemann  had  walked  on  very  quickly  till  he  reached 
the  bank.  As  he  approached  the  clockmaker's  shop  he  saw  that 
Monsieur  Riesen  was  standing  in  his  door-way,  ready  to  exchange  a 
morning  greeting;  but  Rudolf  was  preoccupied,  he  did  not  want  to 
speak  to  any  one. 

His  thoughts  were  full  of  Madame  Carouge.  He  had  been  joked 
about  her  by  Loigerot  and  some  of  the  other  regular  pensionnaires  of 
the  hotel,  and  these  jokes  had  ruffled  his  simple  loyal  nature. 

Rudolf  was  a  fine,  tall  young  fellow,  and  he  was  twenty-three  years 
old;  but  he  had  lived  very  quietly  at  Fribourg  with  his  old  father  and 
mother,  and  since  he  had  lost  them  last  winter  he  had  not  felt  much 
inclination  to  seek  out  friends.  As  yet  no  woman's  coquetry  towards 
him  had  tarnished  the  reverence  he  felt  for  women.  He  was  grate- 
ful to  Madame  Carouge  for  her  friendliness;  it  had  seemed  to  him 
an  impertinence  that  these  common-minded  talkers  should  thus  free- 
ly discuss  his  relations  with  so  perfect  a  woman. 

She  was  to  him  all  that  a  woman  should  be,  and  he  felt  an  inde- 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  63 

scvibable  pleasure  in  looking  at  her  and  listening  to  her  full  mellow 
voice.  But  to-day  he  felt  troubled  by  the  change  in  her  manner 
towards  him. 

She  had  been  wonderfully  kind;  he  knew  very  well  that  she  rare- 
ly admitted  Loigerot  into  her  sanctum;  he  and  Rudolf's  fellow- 
clerks  did  all  their  business  with  Moritz  at  the  bureau  on  the  right 
of  the  entrance;  unless,  indeed,  as  had  happened  to  Loigerot  this 
morning,  Madame  Carouge  had  sent  a  special  message  to  request  his 
presence. 

"Loigerot  does  far  more  for  the  Beauregard  than  I  do,"  he 
thought.  "He  drinks  plenty  of  wine,  which  I  cannot  afford  to  do; 
her  friendship  for  me  is  simple  kindness. " 

He  had  often  gone  through  this  formula  during  the  last  two 
months,  but  to-day,  and  indeed  once  or  twice  before,  it  had  not  sat- 
isfied him ;  her  manner  had  changed ;  something  beyond  her  kind- 
ness puzzled  him  now.  Madame  Carouge  had  become  so  grave; 
she  was  kinder  than  ever,  but  more  restrained.  Really,  when  he 
recalled  her  sweet  downcast  confusion,  and  then  the  melting  glance 
he  had  met  with  in  those  beautiful  eyes  of  hers  just  now,  an  odd 
sensation  that  was  chiefly  pleasure,  but  which  had  yet  a  thread  of 
perplexity  interwoven  with  it,  kept  him  absorbed,  even  after  he  had 
reached  the  bank  and  was  seated  before  his  desk.  As  he  went  in 
he  had  met  one  of  his  fellow-clerks  who  dined  daily  at  the  Hotel 
Beauregard. 

"I  congratulate  you,  Engemann,"he  said.  "Have  you  got  the 
widow  to  fix  a  day  for  the  wedding?" 

Rudolf  merely  raised  his  shoulders  and  passed  in,  but  the  words 
went  with  him.  When  he  began  to  write,  it  seemed  as  if  he  saw  on 
the  paper  the  dark,  glowing  face  of  Madame  Carouge. 

All  at  once  the  puzzle  went  away;  a  warm  feeling  of  pleasure 
filled  his  veins  ;  life  seemed  to  open  before  him  a  broad,  smooth 
path,  golden  with  sunshine.  Rudolf  asked  himself  why  he  should 
not  grasp  this  pleasant  portion  which  almost,  he  believed,  might  be 
his  for  the  asking.  It  seemed  unmanly  to  hesitate.  The  doubt  and 
self -rebuke  which  had  so  often  checked  him  kept  silence  now  while 
he  asked  himself  whether  the  change  he  had  noted  in  Madame  Ca- 
rouge was  not  meant  to  encourage  his  hopes. 

Rudolf  was  too  simple  to  believe  in  the  extent  of  the  widow's 
love.  He  told  himself  that  his  admiration  had  not  displeased  her, 
and  that  she  had  attributed  his  slowness  and  coldness  to  the  real 


64  AT   THE   RED    GLOVE. 

cause — his  want  of  means.  In  her  generosity  she  had  tried  to  take 
away  this  barrier  in  his  path.  Still,  he  did  not  like  the  disparity 
between  them.  She  was  some  years  older,  but  her  beauty  would 
make  up  for  that ;  his  independent  nature  revolted  entirely  from 
the  notion  of  a  wife  so  much  richer  than  he  was.  When  the  jok- 
ers had  begun  their  raillery,  he  had  shrunk  from  the  idea  of  marry- 
ing a  widow.  Living  with  his  old  parents,  who  had  in  their  youth 
married  for  love,  he  had  grown  up  with  old-fashioned  ideas,  one  of 
which  was  a  fancy  that  he  would  like  to  be  the  sole  possessor  of  his 
wife's  affections,  supposing  that  he  ever  took  a  wife.  He  had  lived 
so  much  alone  that  he  had  had  more  time  for  reflection  than  most 
young  fellows  have,  and  as  he  was  by  nature  silent  and  reticent,  he 
often  dreamed  about  the  future,  while  his  companions  enjoyed  the 
present. 

His  dream  to-day  was  too  distracting,  and  as  idleness  was  not  one 
of  his  characteristics,  he  roused  himself  from  it  and  compelled  his 
attention  to  fix  on  the  business  of  the  day.  When  this  was  over,  he 
lingered  at  his  desk  till  the  other  clerks  departed,  and  then  he  start- 
ed for  a  walk.  Usually  he  went  down  to  the  platform  in  front  of 
the  cathedral  to  look  at  the  grand  view  of  the  blue-green  Aar  foam- 
ing over  its  weir,  with  the  far-off  background  of  snow  mountains; 
but  on  this  platform  on  Saturday  afternoon  there  was  a  certain  risk 
of  meeting  acquaintances;  among  them  the  stout  ex -captain  was 
sure  to  be  found  chatting  with  the  nurse-maids,  who  brought  their 
charges  to  play  on  the  grass,  and  Rudolf  wanted  to  keep  clear  of 
the  captain  till  dinner-time.  He  therefore  found  his  way  to  the  riv- 
er-side some  way  from  the  mtlnster  platform,  and  then  walked  out 
towards  the  country  southward. 

He  was  impatient  to  see  Madame  Carouge,  and  yet  he  shrank  from 
their  next  meeting.  His  old  visions  of  a  love  marriage  with  a  young 
girl  came  back,  and  he  asked  himself  whether  he  was  sure  that  this 
beautiful,  fascinating  woman  was  really  the  lifelong  companion  he 
coveted. 

He  knew  so  little  about  her— just  as  they  began  to  talk  on  some- 
thing more  interesting  than  usual,  Moritz  was  sure  to  bring  an  inter- 
ruption ;  it  seemed  as  though  they  were  perpetually  checked  on  the 
verge  of  becoming  intimate.  And  the  young  fellow  felt  that  this 
would  go  on,  and  with  his  old-fasliioned  ideas  he  shrank  from  vent- 
uring such  an  important  question  as  marriage  on  mere  liking.  He 
felt,  too,  that  his  present  position  could  not  continue.     Sooner  or 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE,  65 

later  one  of  these  jokes  so  freely  circulated  would  reach  the  ears  of 
Madame  Carouge,  and  she  would  feel  herself  compromised. 

A  sudden  light  came  to  him  as  he  walked  disconsolately  along  the 
dull  road.  The  promised  day  at  Thun  would  at  least  be  free  from 
interruptions;  he  could  then  judge  for  himself.  His  manliness  cried 
out  that  he  was  unworthy  to  win  a  woman  if  he  could  consider  her 
in  this  cold-blooded  fashion,  while  more  worldly  promptings  whis- 
pered him  not  to  be  unwise,  not  to  allow  a  romantic  scruple  to  stand 
in  the  way  of  the  prosperous  future  that  lay  before  him  as  the  hus- 
band of  Madame  Carouge. 

When  he  thought  of  her  position  he  winced  a  little:  he  should  not 
like  his  wife  to  sit  where  any  strange  idler  might,  if  he  chose  to  take 
the  trouble,  gaze  through  the  window  at  her,  even  speak  to  her;  and 
then  he  smiled  and  told  himself  not  to  be  premature.  One  of  his 
perplexities  had  left  him;  without  owning  his  conquest  to  himself 
in  any  boastful  manner,  he  seemed  at  times  to  have  lost  doubt  and 
fear  about  Madame  Carouge's  feelings  for  him. 

"We  will  leave  it  all  till  that  Sunday  comes;"  and  turning  back 
by  a  cross-road  he  soon  came  in  sight  of  the  gate  flanked  with  the 
stone  bears  that  seem  to  defy  intruders  to  enter  Berne. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  He  was  surprised  to  find  how  late  it  was; 
he  had  scarcely  time  to  go  to  his  lodgings  before  proceeding  to 
the  table-d'hote. 

He  went  rapidly  along  under  the  arcades.  Just  as  he  reached  the 
Red  Glove  his  two  fellow  -  clerks  who  frequented  the  Beauregard 
came  laughing  out  of  the  shop.  They  saw  Engemann,  and  blocked 
up  the  way. 

"  Go  into  the  shop  and  look  at  the  girl,"  one  of  them  said.  "  The 
old  captain  has  not  such  bad  taste,  after  all." 

"  She  is  too  pale  for  Engemann,"  the  other  said.  "  Bless  you!  he 
will  see  no  beauty  in  her;  he  likes  something  more  full-blown." 

The  last  speaker  was  a  mere  lad,  and  Rudolf  looked  sternly  at 
him. 

"Look  here,  Wengern,"  he  said,  "a  joke  is  well  enough  within 
limits,  but  a  joke  carried  too  far  is  very  bad  and  offensive.  I  wish 
you  good-evening." 

He  looked  calm  and  determined  ;  the  clerks  walked  away, 
sniggering,  when  they  got  to  a  safe  distance,  about  the  airs  the 
young  giant  gave  himself. 

Till  this  meeting,  Rudolf  had  forgotten  the  captain's  adventure. 

3* 


66  AT   TEIE    RED    GLOVE. 

Now  he  looked  in  through  the  glass  door  of  the  shop,  and  caught  a 
ghmpse  of  Marie.  She  stood  behind  the  counter  with  her  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes.  He  heard  Madame  Bobineau's  voice,  and  glanc- 
ing towards  the  desk,  he  saw  that  his  civil-spoken  landlady's  small 
eyes  gleamed  with  anger.  Rudolf  gave  another  backward  glance 
at  Marie. 

"  It's  a  shame,"  he  thought,  "  that  she  should  be  made  to  cry.  I 
dare  say  she  laughed  when  those  fellows  talked  to  her,  and  the  old 
woman  is  a  prude.  Well,  she  should  not  have  a  young  girl  in  her 
shop  in  a  town  like  Berne." 

This  was  evidently  not  an  opportune  moment  in  which  to  make 
acquaintance  with  Madame  Bobineau's  cousin;  there  was  plenty  of 
time  for  that,  he  thought,  as  he  opened  the  house  door.  Before  he 
reached  the  staircase  his  landlady's  shrill  voice  made  itself  distinct. 

"  I  tell  you  it  must  be  done:  a  customer  is  a  customer,  and  his 
gloves  must  be  duly  measured.  Do  you  suppose,  you  vain  little 
hussy,  that  a  gentleman  thinks  who  it  is  that  measures  him?  He 
thinks  of  his  gloves,  that's  all. " 

Rudolf  hurried  up -stairs,  and  so  lost  the  end  of  the  scolding. 

The  bell  had  rung  for  table  -  cVhute  before  he  reached  the  hotel ; 
he  found  every  one  busy  eating  their  soup,  except  a  few  late  ar- 
rivals, who  sat  tucking  the  corners  of  their  table  napkins  into  their 
waistcoats.  The  two  clerks  soon  began  to  tease  Loigerot  about  his 
pretty  shop-girl. 

"Did  you  see  her,  Engemann?"  said  one  of  them. 

The  captain  looked  sharply  at  Rudolf  as  he  answered. 

"I  was  hurried.     I  only  got  a  glimpse  through  the  window." 

"Did  I  not  tell  you?"  the  young  one  began;  but  a  nudge  from  his 
companion  silenced  him,  and  as  the  captain  at  once  started  a  fresh 
subject,  no  more  was  said  about  the  Red  Glove. 

When  dinner  came  at  last  to  an  end,  Rudolf  took  care  to  leave 
the  hotel  with  the  rest.  He  resolved  not  to  give  fresh  food  to  these 
gossips  on  the  subject  of  his  interview  with  Madame  Carouge. 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  67 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MADAME  BOBENEAtJ  LOSES  HER  SUPPER. 

MADAifE  BoBiNEATJ  never  failed  in  her  attendance  at  early  mass 
on  Sundays  and  on  Church  Festivals,  and  as  the  Hotel  Beauregard 
lay  in  her  way  home,  she  often  called  in  to  see  the  widow.  It  must 
be  confessed  that  Madame  Carouge  had  a  horror  of  early  rising,  and 
preferred  high  mass  to  the  services  that  preceded  it. 

Madame  Bobineau  said  it  feasted  her  eyes  to  get  even  a  glimpse  of 
the  beautiful  widow — certainly  she  often  managed  to  combine  this 
kind  of  refreshment  with  the  promise  of  a  more  material  feast ;  and 
in  this  prospect  of  carrying  home  an  excellent  Sunday  dinner  it  had 
become  a  habit  with  her  to  take  occasionally  a  small  flag  basket  to 
church.  She  managed  to  wear  this  under  her  ample  skirt,  and  she 
produced  it  when  she  saw  that  Madame  Carouge  had  some  dainties 
to  offer. 

Sometimes  half  a  chicken  or  a  tempting  sweetbread  fell  to  her 
lot,  or  a  dish  of  cutlets  or  stewed  kidneys  would  be  ready  packed 
for  her  in  a  little  covered  terrine,  and  to  this  Madame  Carouge  often 
added  a  half  bottle  of  Diedesheimer.  Yesterday,  however,  a  dis- 
tinct message  had  been  sent  to  the  Red  Glove  through  Captain  Loi- 
gerot.  But  though  Madame  Bobineau  felt  her  appetite  quicken  at 
the  prospect  of  sundry  dainties,  she  resolved  to  deny  herself  the  en- 
joyment of  them  till  after  supper.  Her  former  shop-girls  had  spent 
their  Sundays  at  home,  but  she  was  Marie's  only  friend  in  Berne,  and 
the  girl  must  dine  and  sup  with  her.  It  was  possible,  she  reflected, 
as  she  drew  near  the  hotel,  that  her  liberal  friend,  in  consideration 
of  Marie,  might  bestow  a  double  portion. 

Madame  Bobineau  smacked  her  thin  lips.  "So  much  the  better 
for  me,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  for  it  is  not  well  to  pamper  a  young 
girl.     Marie  cannot  have  been  used  to  dainties  at  the  convent." 

With  this  reflection  she  stepped  cheerfully  into  the  entrance  of 
the  Beauregard.  Moritz's  pensive,  consumptive  face  showed  at  the 
door  of  his  bureau,  but  when  he  saw  Madame  Bobineau  he  bowed 
and  grinned  and  retreated,  in  spite  of  the  elaborate  courtesy  and 


68  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE, 

smile  with  which  she  greeted  him.  She  went  round  softly  to  the 
glazed  end  of  the  widow's  parlor;  the  door  stood  open;  but  her  cat- 
like tread  made  no  sound,  and  Madame  Carouge  gave  a  little  start 
when  she  found  the  old  woman's  eyes  fixed  on  her  in  intense  scru- 
tiny. 

The  widow  was  sitting  on  her  sofa  in  deep  thought,  and  she  had 
to  force  a  smile,  for  the  interruption  came  at  a  wrong  moment. 
She  was  trying  for  about  the  twentieth  time  to  give  herself  a  reason 
why  Monsieur  Engemann  had  not  lingered  to  speak  to  her  after 
dinner  yesterday.  She  felt  chilled  and  disquieted.  And  yet  he  had 
often  gone  out  in  this  way  with  his  friends;  but  then,  she  argued  to 
herself,  yesterday  morning's  interview  had  completely  changed  their 
relations  to  each  other ;  he  had  never  before  looked  at  her  as  he 
had  looked  yesterday  morning.  Love  had  shone  in  his  eyes,  and 
who  could  say  but  for  that  officious  Moritz  he  might  have  declared 
his  passion. 

And  here  it  occurred  to  Madame  Carouge  that  this  was  not  the 
first  time  that  Moritz  had  broken  in  upon  her  talks  with  Monsieur 
Engemann.  She  frowned  a  little  as  this  idea  presented  itself,  and 
looking  up,  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Madame  Bobineau. 

The  mistress  of  the  Red  Glove  looked  so  like  an  old  witch  that 
Madame  Carouge  shivered  and  turned  slightly  pale.  She  felt  as  if 
this  inquisitive  old  woman  could  read  her  secret  thoughts.  But  she 
spoke  to  her  pleasantly. 

"Good -morning,  neighbor;  you  are  earlier  than  usual.  How 
have  you  been  lately?" 

Madame  Bobineau  kept  the  widow's  soft  golden-brown  hand  in 
her  lean  grasp,  and  gazed  admiringly  in  her  rich  friend's  handsome 
face. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  ask  how  you  are,"  she  said.  "  You  look 
like  a  newly  opened  rose,  with  your  eyes  as  bright  as  diamonds." 

Madame  Carouge  turned  away  with  a  perceptible  shrug  of  the 
shoulder;  there  was  little  variety  in  the  old  woman's  compliments, 
and  she  was  not  in  a  mood  for  flattery  this  morning.  The  bead- 
like eyes  looked  keenly  round  the  room,  but  they  could  not  spy  any 
parcel  likely  to  contain  dainties. 

"You  were  so  good,  madame,"  the  old  woman  said,  humbly,  "  as 
to  send  me  word  by  Captain  Loigerot — ah,  what  an  excellent  gen- 
tleman he  is ! — that  you  wished  me  to  call  in  on  my  way  from  mass 
this  morning." 


MADAME    BOBINEAU    KEPT    THE    SOFT    GOLDEX-BROWN    HAND    IX    HER    LEAN    GRASP. 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  71 

"Ah,  so  I  did."  Madame  Carouge  spoke  with  studied  careless- 
ness. She  saw  the  greedy  eyes  furtively  searching  everj''  corner,  and 
she  enjoyed  Madame  Bobineau's  anxiety.  "  Let  me  see — what  was 
it  I  heard? — I  remember.  Monsieur  Loigerot  told  me  that  you  have 
adopted  a  young  relative;  that  you  have  her  in  your  shop." 

Madame  Bobineau's  hopes  sank;  but  then  this  question  might 
bear  on  the  extra  supplies  she  was  hoping  for. 

"I  should  have  come,  dear  madame,  without  your  summons,  to 
tell  you  about  her.  You  are  always  so  kind  that  I  should  have 
ventured  to  believe  that  you  would  take  some  interest  in  my  little 
cousin." 

"Ah,  then  it  is  a  child  that  you  have  adopted.  But  will  you  not 
find  it  a  troublesome  charge? — you  will  have  to  send  it  to  school, 
my  good  Madame  Bobineau;  you  cannot  keep  a  child  in  the  shop." 

"It  is  not  so  bad  as  that,"  the  old  woman  answered.  "It  is  a 
heavy  burden,"  she  went  on  in  a  whining  voice;  "but  what  could 
I  do?  I  could  not  leave  my  poor  Berthold's  child  to  be  a  burden  to 
strangers,  and  I — I  want  help  in  the  shop." 

Madame  Carouge  looked  grave. 

"  How  old  is  she?  and  what  is  she  like?" 

Madame  Bobineau's  eyes  became  keener  than  ever. 

"Oh,  madame,  after  all,  she  is  a  mere  girl — sixteen  or  thereabout 
— a  simple  child  fresh  from  her  convent." 

"In  that  case" — madame's  full,  rich  voice  became  hard  and  dry 
— "  I  do  not  think  a  glove  shop  is  a  good  beginning  for  her.  She 
would  be  safer  at  a  dress-maker's,  or  even  in  a  draper's  shop." 

Madame  Bobineau  was  at  once  aggrieved  and  alarmed. 

"I  am  also  in  the  shop,  madame,  or  at  worst  I  can  see  through 
the  glass  door.  But  I  assure  you  Marie  is  more  inclined  to  prudery 
than  to  flirting.  Why,  only  yesterday,  when  two  of  your  boarders 
came  in,  the  little  chit  actually  let  them  choose  and  measure  their 
own  gloves  themselves." 

"What  did  you  expect  her  to  do,  then?"  The  widow  could  not 
help  smiling  at  Madame  Bobineau's  indignation. 

' '  Well,  my  dear  madame,  you  will,  I  am  sure,  agree  with  me  that 
a  girl  of  that  age  should  do  as  she  is  bid,  and  should  not  take  up 
ideas  of  her  own." 

Madame  Carouge  was  so  amused  that  her  pearly  teeth  showed 
plainly. 

"Actually,  madame,"  the  old  woman  went  on,  "she  had  the  face 


72  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

to  tell  me  that  the  gentlemen  stared  at  her,  and  that  she  considered 
them  impertinent." 

"Perhaps  they  did  stare  rudely,"  said  Madame  Carouge,  thought- 
fully; "who  did  you  say  they  were?" 

"  Two  of  your  boarders,  madame — young  Monsieur  Wengern  and 
Monsieur  Christen.     I  am  sure  they  are  very  civil  gentlemen." 

"They  may  have  been  too  civil,  my  good  woman" — the  widow's 
manner  was  still  constrained;  "but  she  must  be  pretty,  this  young 
cousin  of  yours :  those  are  not  young  men  who  would  stare  at  a 
plain  girl." 

"Yes,  the  girl  is  passable."  Then  remembering  that  Madame 
Carouge  would  probably  go  to  the  Red  Glove  and  form  her  own 
judgment  of  Marie,  "  Captain  Loigerot  says  she  is  pretty,  but — " 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  Madame  Carouge  interrupted,  so  sharply 
that  the  old  woman's  eyes  and  mouth  opened  simultaneously,  "that 
you  have  this  young  and  pretty  girl  to  live  in  joxa  house,  so  that 
she  makes  acquaintance  with  your  lodgers?" 

Madame  Bobineau  cringed  and  trembled.  She  felt  almost  scorched 
by  the  fire  that  blazed  in  the  widow's  soft,  velvet  like  eyes. 

"No,  no,  indeed,  madame.  I  ask  a  hundred  pardons;  but  ma- 
dame has  altogether  mistaken  me.  Marie  does  not  sleep  at  the  Red 
Glove— dear  me,  no ;  I  could  not  have  dreamed  of  anything  so  im- 
proper. She  has  a  lodging  in  the  Cour  du  Pints,  and  by  no  chance 
does  she  go  into  the  passage  reserved  for  the  lodgers." 

"  Then  how  has  Monsieur  Loigerot  made  acquaintance  with  her? 
— he  is  not  a  man  to  buy  gloves."  The  widow  looked  stern  and 
unbelieving. 

"Madame  is  right,  as  she  always  is."  Bobineau  spoke  fawning- 
ly,  and  put  her  lean,  hooked  fingers  on  her  beautiful  friend's  arm. 
"The  captain  does  not  buy  gloves;  but  on  the  morning  of  Marie's 
arrival  he  saw  her  near  the  station,  and  showed  her  the  way  to  my 
house.  The  captain  is  a  kind  man,  madame.  Only  last  night,  when 
I  was  talking  to  him  and  to  Monsieur  Engemann — ah,  is  not  that  a 
beautiful  young  man?— the  captain  said  I  ought  to— to  interest  you 
in  my  little  cousin." 

She  stammered  over  the  last  words,  for  another  scorching  glance 
told  her  that  her  speech  had  given  offence. 

Madame  Carougc's  broad  eyebrows  knit,  she  raised  her  head 
proudly,  and  seemed  to  the  frightened  old  woman  to  look  grander 
and  more  beautiful  than  ever. 


AT   TUE    RED   GLOVE.  73 

"  Do  you  meau  me  to  understand,  Madame  Bobineau,  tliat  at  your 
age  and  with  your  experience  you  talk  to  your  gentlemen  lodgers 
about  your  shop-girl  ?  You  must  excuse  me  if  I  say  that  your 
young  cousin  would  have  been  safer  in  her  convent  than  she  is 
likely  to  be  imder  your  care." 

She  spoke  haughtily;  her  words  seemed  to  stab  her  listener;  Ma- 
dame Bobineau  almost  choked  with  alarm. 

"You  mistake  me,  madame,"  she  said.  "  Captain  Loigerot  came 
in  last  night  with  Monsieur  Engemann,  and  as  I  happened  to  be  in 
the  passage,  the  captain  asked  after  little  Marie." 

"The  captain  is  not  young" — Madame  Carouge  spoke  very  se- 
verely; "but  I  am  shocked  that  you  should  talk  about  a  young  girl 
to  Monsieur  Engemann — " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  as  if  she  had  said  too  much.  Madame 
Bobineau  sighed  with  relief. 

"Ah,  madame" — she  spoke  in  her  most  fawning  tone — "of  all 
the  gentlemen  in  Berne,  I  consider  him  the  safest — as  safe  as  a  mar- 
ried man."  Here  she  gave  a  rather  cynical  smile.  "It  could  not 
be  possible  to  worship  you,  madame,  and  to  have  eyes  for  any  other 
woman.  No,  madame,  believe  me  Monsieur  Engemann  will  not 
even  look  at  my  little  cousin." 

If  Madame  Carouge  had  been  standing,  she  would  have  stamped 
with  impatience  at  her  friend's  indiscretion. 

"You  are  making  a  great  mistake,  Madame  Bobineau."  She 
spoke  with  chill  dignity.  "You  have  been  listening  to  gossip,  I 
fear.  I  am  not  thinking  about  Monsieur  Wengern,  or  Monsieur 
Engemann,  or  any  gentleman  in  particular.  I  am  trying  to  show 
you  how  to  take  care  of  your  little  cousin.  It  seems  to  me  I  am  a 
fitter  counsellor  in  the  matter  than  Captain  Loigerot  is." 

"Ah,  madame  " — the  old  woman  rose  and  courtesied;  she  literally 
quivered  with  the  fear  of  having  lost  her  supper — "you  are  as  wise 
as  you  are  beautiful.     I  will  follow  your  advice  in  all  things. " 

" Then,"  said  Madame  Carouge,  smiling,  "the  best  thing  you  can 
do  is  to  find  a  husband  to  take  care  of  this  little  girl  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible." 

Madame  Bobineau  clasped  her  skinny  hands  and  turned  up  her 
little  eyes. 

"  A  husband!  But,  madame,  she  has  not  a  penny;  and  although  I 
am  willing  to  feed  and  clothe  her,  I  am  not  able  to  provide  a  marriage- 
portion.     Heavens!  how  should  a  poor  old  woman  like  mo  do  so?" 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 


Madame  Carouge  gave  ber  a  smile  full  of  scorn. 

"  I  see  you  do  not  want  advice,  neighbor;  your  mind  is  made  up. 
Good !  go  your  own  way ;  but  when  you  come  to  me  in  three  months' 
time  to  complain  that  your  little  cousin's  head  is  turned  with  flat- 
tery, or  perhaps— there  are  plenty  of  bad  people  in  Berne— that  she 
is  ruined,  I  shall  have  no  pity  for  you." 

She  rose  up,  and  shaking  out  her  skirts,  as  if  she  dismissed  the 
subject  and  her  visitor,  she  went  slowly  to  her  desk. 

Madame  Bobineau  followed  her  and  touched  her  arm,  her  lean 
fingers  trembled;  had  she  actually  offended  her  best  friend  for  the 
sake  of  a  chit  like  Marie? 

"Pardon  me,  madame;  I  am  an  old  fool  to  set  my  judgment  up 
against  yours.  If  you  can  find  any  one  who— who  can  maintain  a 
wife,  and  is  willing  to  take  Marie  without  a  portion,  she  shall  marry 
him." 

"That  is  right.  Leave  it  to  me;  I  will  find  your  little  Marie  a 
husband,"  said  Madame  Carouge.  "And  now,  my  good  friend,  I 
must  ask  you  to  leave  me,  or  I  shall  be  late  at  mass." 

There  was  plainly  to  -  day  no  forth  -  coming  supper  for  Madame 
Bobineau,  and  after  prolonging  her  leave-taking  as  long  as  she  dared, 
she  departed,  smarting  with  vexation  and  disappointed  greed,  of 
which  she  considered  Marie  the  primary  cause. 

Marriage  for  the  little  chit!  How  could  Madame  Carouge  be  so 
foolish?  She  had  better  leave  the  girl  alone.  Just  as  she  had  had 
the  trouble  of  teaching  Marie  her  duties,  she  was  to  be  distracted 
with  this  notion  of  marriage;  and  the  worst  of  it  was,  there  was  no 
way  out  of  it:  the  beautiful  widow  always  kept  her  promises. 


CHAPTER  X. 

HOPE     AND    FEAR. 

Madame  Carouge  stood  still  for  some  time  after  her  visitor's  de- 
parture. She  was  so  absorbed  in  thinking  that  she  failed  to  hear  a 
tap  at  her  door— at  first  timid,  then  smartly  repeated. 

Madame  Bobineau  had  left  the  door  partly  open,  and  the  widow 
started  when  she  heard  a  familiar  voice  say,  "May  I  come  in?" 

Madame  Carouge  opened  the  door  fully.  "  How  do  you  do.  Mon- 
sieur Riesen?"  she  said.  "  You  have  something  pleasant  to  tell  me, 
I  am  sure." 


AT  THE    RED   GLOVE.  75 

She  seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  and  patting  it,  smiled  graciously  at 
her  visitor. 

Monsieur  Riesen  took  the  seat  indicated,  thus  making  a  remark- 
able contrast  to  his  hostess.  He  was  a  tall,  large-boned  man,  with  a 
sickly  complexion,  gray  hair,  and  large,  deep  -  set,  gray  eyes.  His 
face  was  so  thin  that  his  eyes  had  sunk  back,  and  seemed  to  peer 
suspiciously  through  his  dark,  shaggy  eyebrows,  as  he  stooped  for- 
ward to  listen. 

"  Well,  madame, "  he  said,  "as  for  pleasant  news,  I  am  not  sure 
whether  you  will  think  mine  so.  Here  is  another  fine  Sunday,  and 
I  regret  to  say  I  am  still  obliged  to  defer  our  excursion;  and  next 
Sunday  may  bring  torrents  of  rain  with  it.  But  it  is  always  so,  is  it 
not?" 

He  looked  so  melancholy  that  she  laughed. 

"That  Sunday  always  brings  torrents  of  rain?  No,  my  good 
friend,  and  to-day  gives  you  a  contradiction.  But  then  is  it  really 
settled  for  next  Sunday?  Ah!  I  am  glad."  She  clapped  her  hands 
with  a  gayety  that  scarcely  harmonized  with  the  intense  expression 
in  her  eyes  and  the  grand  lines  of  her  figure. 

Riesen  was  enchanted.  He  had  not  expected  his  news  to  be  re- 
ceived so  pleasantly. 

"  You  look  divine  to-day,  madame."  He  bent  his  long  back  over 
her,  and  spoke  in  an  insinuating  whisper.  ' '  It  will  not  matter  what 
sort  of  weather  we  have  for  our  excursion:  w^e  shall  have  only  to 
look  at  you  to  feel  sure  that  sunshine  is  with  us." 

"Prettily  said,  monsieur;  but  I  prefer  real  sunshine.  It  is  a  pity 
we  could  not  go  to-day." 

"Yes, "he  sighed;  "but  then  life  is  full  of  these  vexations  for 
me  " — he  put  his  hand  on  his  chest.  "  I  am  old,  and  life  is  always 
vexing;  but  to  you,  young,  rich,  and  beautiful,  all  vexation  should 
be  spared,  every  wish  should  be  fulfilled.  It  is  grievous  to  me  that 
I  should  in  any  way  cause  you  disappointment." 

She  turned  suddenly  and  faced  him.  "  Is  it,  then,  quite  impos- 
sible we  can  go  to-day?" 

"  I  grieve  to  say,  yes.  Various  reasons  have  concurred  to  make 
it  out  of  the  question. " 

This  seemed  the  safest  answer  he  could  make.  He  felt  sure  that 
the  fact  of  his  being  more  than  usually  dyspeptic  would  not  be  ac- 
cepted by  Madame  Carouge  as  a  sufficient  reason. 

"You  must  really  try  not  to  disappoint  me  agdn,  monsieur  " — she 


T6  AT    THE    RED    GLOVE. 

pouted  a  little,  and  thereby  looked  more  charming  than  ever.  "But 
how  is  it,  then,  that  you  came  to  see  me?  I  thought  you  were  a  de- 
vout Protestant,  Monsieur  Riesen,  and  were  always  in  church  at  this 
time  of  day?" 

"  Well,  yes  " — he  drew  a  long  face  and  got  up  unwillingly — "but 
it  is  so  pleasant  here,  and  I  feared  you  might  be  making  some  other 
engagement  for  next  Sunday.  If  we  have  a  day  like  this  it  will  be 
divine,  though  it  is  not  I  who  shall  enjoy  it  to  perfection." 

He  sighed,  and  elevated  his  eyebrows  with  a  look  of  admiration. 

Of  this  Madame  Carouge  took  no  notice,  but  she  shook  her  head 
in  rebuke  of  his  words.  "You  ought  to  enjoy  it  thoroughly,  mon- 
sieur; you  will  have  the  benefit  and  the  pleasure  of  an  open-air  holi- 
day in  the  society  of  your  wife." 

Riesen  made  a  grimace.     "Do  you  enjoy  things  because  you 
ought?"  he  said,  in  a  whisper.     "Noj  believe  me,  dear  friend,  plcas- 
Y     ure  and  dutyjvere  never  yet  mated." 

^  "You  are  talking  treason,  and  you  know  it."  Madame  Carouge 
looked  so  scornful,  spite  of  her  smile,  that  Riesen  winced  a  little. 
"  I  will  say  au  revoir  to  you,  neighbor,  for  I  am  a  little  hurried  this 
morning. " 

As  soon  as  the  clockmaker  had  departed,  Madame  Carouge  opened 
the  door  communicating  with  the  bureau. 

"Moritz!"  she  called. 

In  an  instant  the  thin-faced  waiter  appeared  before  her. 

"If  any  one  wants  me  this  morning,  say  I  am  gone  to  church." 

"Yes,  madame." 

Moritz  went  back  to  his  desk  with  a  pleased  smile,  and  Madame 
Carouge  mounted  to  her  bedroom.  But  she  did  not  get  ready  for 
church. 

She  placed  herself  before  her  looking-glass,  and  stood  there  several 
minutes  gazing  at  the  beautiful  reflection. 

"Yes,  I  must  be  handsome, " she  thought.  "I  cannot  remember 
the  time  when  I  was  not  made  to  know  it."  She  turned  from  the 
glass  with  a  look  of  disgust.  ' '  If  they  only  guessed  how  sick  I  am 
of  hearing  their  flattery!  What  do  I  know?  it  is  perhaps  because 
Rudolf  has  never  paid  me  a  compliment  that  I  love  him.  Ah !  how 
I  love  him!"  She  hid  her  glowing  face  between  her  hands,  and  sat 
down  in  au  easy-chair. 

Presently  she  let  her  hands  fall  in  her  lap ;  her  lip  curved  upward 
and  showed  her  lovel}'  teeth. 


] 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  77 

"  How  little  one  knows  one's  self!  How  often  through  those  dull 
ten  years  I  said,  'Ah!  when  I  get  my  liberty  I  will  never  lose  it 
again.  I  will  be  free— free  as  a  bird— for  the  rest  of  my  life.'"  She 
laughed  a  little  at  the  thought  her  words  called  up.  ' '  Poor  little 
Zizi  singing  in  his  cage  down-stairs  would  be  wiser  than  I  have  been, 
if  he  found  his  cage  door  open.  Carouge  has  been  dead  little  more 
than  a  year,  and  I  am  already  tired  of  my  liberty.  I  have  none  left." 
She  struck  her  closed  hand  on  the  marble  shelf  below  her  mirror. 
"My  married  life  was  only  imprisonment  —  at  least,  my  heart  was 
free;  but  now  I  do  not  seem  to  belong  to  myself.  What  a  weak 
creature  I  am !  I  only  feel  really  living  in  Rudolf's  presence.  Be- 
tween the  times  I  see  him  is  like  a  dull  dream  that  has  to  be  got 
through  somehow." 

She  sat  thinking.  It  was  such  a  chance  that  she  had  known  him ! 
If  she  had  followed  the  suggestion  of  Carouge's  man  of  business, 
Rudolf  Engemann  might  still  have  been  a  stranger  to  her.  When 
she  was  told  that  her  husband  had  left  her  all  he  possessed,  she  was 
advised  to  live  for  a  while  in  retirement,  and  it  was  suggested  that 
Moritz,  the  head  -  waiter  of  the  Hotel  Beauregard,  was  capable  of 
carrying  on  the  business  for  her  benefit. 

Even  now  she  smiled  as  she  remembered  her  answer,  and  the  sur- 
prise it  had  elicited. 

She  had  looked  fixedly  in  the  face  of  the  sleek,  stolid  man,  who 
she  knew  considered  her  a  pretty  doll,  for  whom  everything  must  be 
arranged. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "  I  am  eight-and-twenty— quite  old  enough 
to  take  care  of  myself,  and  Moritz  can  manage  the  Beauregard  under 
me  just  as  well  as  he  could  without  me." 

And  the  lawyer  had  been  obliged  to  own  at  the  end  of  the  first 
few  months  that  the  hotel  was  far  more  flourishing  since  the  beau- 
tiful young  widow  had  established  herself  there.  She  gave  all  her 
orders  through  Moritz,  and  he  was  her  slave.  Although  she  had  soon 
remodelled  the  household,  and  had  made  many  changes  in  the  in- 
ternal arrangements,  he  had  never  murmured,  but  had  borne  pa- 
tiently with  the  ill-will  shown  by  some  of  the  older  servants. 

Now,  as  she  sat  musing,  she  was  half  ashamed  of,  half  amused  at, 
the  stir  which  Madame  Bobineau  had  awakened  in  her.  And  grow- 
ing calm  again,  she  asked  herself  what  had  been  the  use  of  her 
studies  in  these  past  years.  Had  she  not  taught  herself  that  true 
love  could  not  change?    If  this  were  true,  she  was  unreasonable  to 


78  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

doubt  Rudolf  Engemann.  She  had  lived  on  in  the  hope  that  some 
day  she  should  go  out  into  the  world  and  find  this  other  half  of  her 
soul  which  she  had  dreamed  of. 

And  one  day,  six  months  ago  now,  Captain  Loigerot,  who  had 
some  time  before  introduced  himself  to  her  as  her  husband's  friend, 
presented  to  her  Monsieur  Rudolf  Engemann,  a  gentleman  newly 
arrived  from  Fribourg,  who  was  about  to  take  up  his  residence  in 
Berne,  and  wished  to  become  a  boarder  at  the  Hotel  Beauregard. 

When  she  sat  alone  in  the  evening  after  this  short  interview,  Ma- 
dame Carouge  knew  that  she  had  seen  the  realization  of  her  dream. 
The  conviction  came  to  her  with  a  sad  certainty,  which  left  no  doubt 
of  its  truth. 

Since  her  husband's  death — more  than  a  year  ago  now— she  bad 
lived  in  as  much  seclusion  as  her  position  would  allow,  and  yet  she 
could  not  help  seeing  the  universal  admiration  her  beauty  excited. 
She  had  not  been  aware  that  Rudolf  Engemann  admired  her.  He 
had  looked  at  her  attentively,  but  as  she  met  his  gaze  her  thoughts 
had  at  once  occupied  themselves  with  him  ;  indeed,  he  had  ever 
since  held  them  captive,  ceaselessly  filled  with  his  image. 

A  strangely  new  life  had  begun  for  her;  she  felt  changed,  timidly 
anxious  about  the  impression  she  had  made  on  this  young  Swiss. 
Since  then  his  manner  and  his  attentions  satisfied  her  when  she  was 
with  him,  but  in  his  absence  fear  and  harassing  doubts  attested  the 
strength  of  her  love.  Every  day  she  sought  anxiously  in  her  glass 
for  a  trace  of  the  years  which  she  knew  made  her  older  than  Mon- 
sieur Engemann,  but  her  love-fraught  eyes  only  made  her  look  more 
attractive ;  she  could  not  see  any  mark  of  time's  fingers. 

"I  wrong  him  too  much,"  she  thought,  "by  these  silly  doubts. 
If  Rudolf  loves  me,  he  could  not  easily  give  me  up ;  and  if  he  does 
not  love  me,  can  I  wish  to  keep  his  attentions?" 

But  she  could  not  answer  this  question.  She  looked  once  more 
at  herself.  If  her  beauty  did  not  satisfy  Rudolf,  she  felt  that  her 
pride  in  it  was  over;  she  would  have  cast  it  all  away  if  she  could 
become  that  which  he  desired. 

"Nonsense!"  she  said,  softly  to  herself,  the  light  of  hope  shining 
in  the  dark  beauty  of  her  eyes.  "They  cannot  all  be  wrong  ;  he 
does  love  me :  see  how  the  captain  stands  aloof  when  Rudolf  is  with 
me.  Riesen  and  his  wife,  and  Madame  Bobineau  too,  they  cannot 
all  deceive  themselves." 

She  remembered  that  true  love  was  rarely  self-confident,  and  this 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE,  79 

might  apply  to  Rudolf  as  well  as  to  herself.  In  his  case  the  knowl- 
edge that  she  was  wealthy  would  certainly  revolt  his  independence 
and  tie  his  tongue.  Once  more  she  told  herself,  blushing,  that  when 
Sunday  came  she  must  try  to  give  her  lover  decided  encourage- 
ment. 

"  It  is  too  late  for  mass  to-day,"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    BEAR    PIT. 

Last  Sunday  had  been  rainy;  the 
bright  sunshine  of  this  Sunday  had 
put  all  the  holiday-makers  in  good- 
humor,  and  they  came  trooping 
along  with  gay,  expectant  faces. 
They  flocked  out  of  the  tall  houses 
on  each  side  of  the  long  street  that 
stretches  from  one  end  of  the  town 
to  the  other  till  it  reaches  the  Ny- 
deck  bridge ;  they  came,  too,  in 
merry  groups  from  the  side  streets 
and  alleys,  till  the  long  street  seemed 
filled  with  the  wearers  of  straw  hats  and  bonnets  trimmed  with  knots 
and  garlands  of  flowers.  They  wore  chiefly  sombre-colored  skirts, 
but  many  of  them  had  the  dazzling  white  sleeves  and  chemisettes 
and  the  glittering  silver  cliains  and  brooches  of  the  canton. 

A  buzz  of  talk  went  on  among  these  women;  there  were  plenty 
of  children  too,  in  Sunday  garb,  and  with  round,  festive  faces,  their 
eyes  big  with  anticipation  ;  they  were  going  to  the  cathedral  plat- 
form to  eat  cakes  and  play  on  the  grass.  There  were  few  men  in 
the  crowd.     Most  of  them  had  lounged  off  in  the  direction  of  the 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  81 

Enge,  or  of  the  bastions.  A  few,  however,  with  stolid,  patient  faces, 
went  on  witli  their  women  and  children,  but  these  kept  on  past  the 
turning  to  the  mlinster,  along  the  street,  till  they  reached  the  bridge 
which  unites  the  long  promontory  on  which  the  city  stands  to  the 
country  beyond  it.  Most  of  these  people  were  of  the  poorest  class, 
and  they  were  going  to  pay  their  Sunday  visit  to  the  living  legend 
of  their  city,  the  famous  bears  of  Berne. 

Marie  and  Madame  Bobineau  were  in  the  crowd.  The  old  woman 
looked  cheerful ;  her  feelings  had  been  soothed  by  the  arrival  of  a 
basket  from  the  Hotel  Beauregard.  Inside  of  it  she  had  found  so 
ample  a  repast  that  she  had  actually  given  Marie  some  cutlets  for 
her  dinner.  She  was  looking  forward  to  a  luxurious  supper  when 
the  girl  went  home  to  her  lodging. 

Marie  was  in  ecstasy.  As  she  walked  along  she  thought  Berne 
was  the  most  beautiful  place  she  had  ever  seen,  and  to-day  the  bright 
sun-glow  brought  every  point  into  high  relief;  the  quaint  fountains 
looked  more  many-colored,  the  gay  stripes  of  the  red  and  orange 
window-blinds  had  never  seemed  so  vivid,  and  the  brilliant  effects 
of  light  and  shade  in  the  arcaded  streets  made  constant  pictures. 
The  girl's  eyes  seemed  to  dance  with  happiness  as  she  moved  airily 
along  beside  her  old  companion. 

Now  they  reached  the  end  of  the  street.  On  the  right  is  the 
bridge,  and  in  front  of  them  is  the  beautiful  blue-green  river  shim- 
mering in  the  warm  sunshine.  Close  by  is  another  gray -green 
fountain,  guarded  by  an  armed  warrior,  and  Marie's  delight  grows 
at  the  sight  of  a  group  of  merry  children  hand  in  hand  dancing 
round  a  woman  who  bends  over  the  fountain  while  she  fills  her 
buckets. 

"Have  a  care  there,"  she  cries,  "  Lieschen,  Aline,  and  you,  Wil- 
helm.  The  water  will  fill  your  shoes  and  spoil  your  Sunday  clothes. 
Have  a  care." 

"Ah,  the  dear  little  children!"  Marie  cries  ;  but  Madame  Bobi- 
neau will  not  stop ;  she  plods  slowly  on  to  the  bridge. 

"Come  along,  Marie;  you  must  never  loiter  in  the  street,  child," 
she  says,  as  Marie  pauses  again  to  look  up  the  river.  ' '  You  were 
loitering,  no  doubt,  when  Captain  Loigerot  spoke  to  you.  Ah!"  she 
sighs;  "well  for  you  that  you  met  with  so  honorable  a  gentleman!" 
She  shakes  her  head  and  frowns. 

Marie  laughs  out.  The  sunshine  and  fresh  air  have  completely 
revived  her  spirits,  and  although  when  the  old  woman  scolds  her 


82  AT  THE   RED   GLOVE, 

very  much  she  is  still  strongly  tempted  to  go  back  to  the  sisters,  the 
feeling  does  not  last.  She  likes  the  consciousness  of  independence; 
she  is  earning  her  own  living  while  she  remains  with  Madame  Bobi- 
neau,  and  it  seems  cowardly  to  give  up  in  despair  because  an  old 
woman,  who  in  other  respects  treats  her  fairly,  has  a  trick  of  scold- 
ing. 

"Pardon  me  if  I  laugh,  madame,"  she  says,  shyly,  for  she  sees  re- 
buke in  her  cousin's  face.  ' '  A  man  cannot  eat  me  up,  as  the  ogre 
on  the  fountain  eats  the  children.  Do  not  be  afraid  ;  I  am  very 
strong.  I  would  not  let  any  one  steal  my  purse.  And  if  any  one 
did  steal  it  he  would  not  find  much  in  it,"  the  clear  young  voice 
goes  on  merrily.  ' '  Ah, ' '  she  cries,  ' '  this  is  delightful !  I  thank  you, 
madame,  for  bringing  me  here." 

She  looks  at  her  with  sparkling  eyes,  for  they  have  reached  the 
platform  in  front  of  the  Bear  Pit,  and  are  standing  under  the  shade 
of  the  trees,  among  the  chattering,  merry  groups  who  have  come 
all  this  way  to  see  the  bears  of  Berne.  Men  and  women  and  a 
crowd  of  little  children  loiter  aljout  the  stalls  near  the  pit.  These 
are  covered  with  toys  and  knickknacks,  soiivenirs  de  Berne  in  the 
shape  of  small,  carved,  wooden  tokens ;  bears  white  and  brown  and 
black,  in  all  kinds  of  attitudes ;  boxes  and  trays  and  inkstands  and 
Swiss  chalets  innumerable;  dried  Alpine  flowers,  and  photographs 
of  the  town  and  neighborhood.  Beyond  are  tables  on  which  heaps 
of  buns  and  carrots  are  exhibited;  these  are  propitiatory  offerings 
for  the  shaggy  idols  in  the  dens  below. 

Marie  cannot  yet  see  the  bears.  It  is  early,  and  they  have  not 
come  out  to  greet  their  friends;  the  crowd,  however,  has  nearly  left 
the  stalls,  and  makes  a  thick  hedge  along  the  edge  of  the  pit,  so  as 
to  screen  it  from  sight.  Marie  is  not  anxious  to  see  the  bears;  this 
concourse  of  happy  people  and  the  gay  stalls  glittering  in  the  sun- 
shine make  for  her  a  spectacle  she  has  never  before  enjoyed. 

"  Do  but  see,  dear  madame  " — she  pulls  Madame  Bobineau's  shawl, 
to  make  her  stop — "do  but  look  at  the  toy  bears!  Ah,  the  pretty 
little  beasts  !  and  I  thought  bears  were  huge,  ugly  monsters!  See! 
here  are  white  bears,  and  here  are  brown  ones ;  and  oh !  here  are 
some  that  carry  parasols,  and  some  smoke  pipes,  and  some — ah  !" — 
here  she  laughs  again — "but  these  are  droll  beyond  belief.  Here 
is  a  bear  that  teaches  his  little  scholars.  See  them!  there  are  eight, 
and  they  sit  on  a  bench,  and  he,  the  teacher,  has  spectacles  ;  and 
oh,  madame,  here  is  a  bear  that  paints,  and  his  picture  is  the  Lake 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  83 

of  Lucerne,  my  beloved  lake!"  she  claps  her  hands,  and  cries  this 
out  joyfully. 

"  Chut!"  says  Madame  Bobineau;  "we  shall  have  a  crowd  round 
us,  child.     People  will  think  you  are  a  savage,  Marie." 

But  Marie  leaves  off  laughing.  Her  mood  has  suddenly  changed. 
Close  beside  her  on  the  stall  she  sees  some  dried  flowers;  her  lips 
part  in  awful  wonder,  for  she  recognizes  them ;  they  are  edelweiss 
blossoms,  and  she  knows  that  they  must  have  been  gathered  on  the 
heights  of  the  snow  mountains  she  so  dearly  loves. 

"  See,  madame,"  she  says,  but  her  voice  is  now  hushed  and  grave, 
"  these  are  the  lovely  snow-flowers.  Is  it  not  as  if  the  snow  itself 
had  budded  into  blossoms?" 

Madame  Bobineau  turns  quickly  away.  She  thinks  the  girl  will 
follow  her,  but  as  Marie  looks  up  from  the  edelweiss  to  the  faces  of 
the  people  near  her,  she  meets  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  fixed  intently  on 
her  own.  Next  moment  the  tall  owner  of  these  eyes  turns  away, 
and  when  Marie  reaches  Madame  Bobineau,  she  finds  the  same  tall, 
pleasant-looking  stranger  speaking  to  her  old  cousin. 

"You  did  not  see  me  just  now,  madame,"  he  says.  "Have  you 
come  to  have  a  look  at  the  bears  ?  So  have  I.  And  this  is  your 
cousin,  is  it  not?" 

Marie  has  been  gazing  at  him;  she  thinks  he  is  nicer  than  any 
one  she  has  seen  in  Berne,  he  is  so  tall  and  grand-looking.  She  feels 
taken  by  surprise  when  he  raises  his  hat  and  bows  to  her. 

His  fair  hair  is  golden  in  the  sunshine,  and  there  is  a  happy, 
peaceful  look  on  his  broad  forehead  and  in  his  blue  eyes,  Marie 
thinks.     Though  he  is  so  very  tall,  she  is  not  much  afraid  of  him. 

Madame  Bobineau  makes  another  courtesy.  ' '  I  am  your  humble 
servant,  monsieur,  and  I  thank  you  for  your  condescension.  I  wish 
you  good-day,  monsieur." 

She  takes  Marie's  arm,  and  is  proceeding  to  the  farther  side  of 
the  Bear  Pit. 

"Pardon  me" — Engemann  places  himself  before  her — "but  it  is 
perhaps  the  first  time  that  mademoiselle  has  seen  the  bears,  and  she 
cannot  see  them  so  well  from  that  side ;  the  people  feed  them  over 
there" — he  looks  over  his  shoulder.  "If  you  will  allow  me,  ma- 
dame, I  will  find  a  place  for  mademoiselle  in  the  front." 

He  looks  so  kindly  at  Marie  that  she  follows  him;  the  crowd  falls 
away  before  his  massive  figure,  and  he  soon  finds  a  place  for  her  in 
front  beside  the  low  wall  which  circles  round  the  edge  of  the  huge 

4 


84  AT  THE    RED    GLOVE. 

den.  Down  below,  a  monstrous  brown  bear  and  a  smaller  black 
one  are  walking  on  their  liind-legs  round  the  paved  circuit  of  the 
pit  above  which  Marie  stands.  The  bears  are  much  too  bulky  to 
climb  the  tall  tree  in  the  midst  of  the  den,  and  the  surface  of  the 
wall  round  their  prison  is  too  smooth  to  offer  any  foothold,  yet 
Marie  draws  away  shuddering. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  her  companion  says,  kindly;  "the  bears  can- 
not reach  you  here,  nor  can  they  escape  from  their  den.  Look, 
look,  mademoiselle,  that  comical  brown  beast  bows  to  you." 

He  laughs  heartily,  and  as  Marie  listens  she  feels  re-assured.  She 
has  forgotten  Madame  Bobineau  for  the  moment,  and  the  old  wom- 
an is  thankful  that  the  crowd  has  made  Marie  invisible.  Monsieur 
Engemann's  fair  head  towers  above  the  rest,  but  it  is  impossible  to 
see  his  companion. 

Madame  Bobineau  is  in  the  friendly  grasp  of  her  old  friend  and 
compatriot  Monsieur  Lenoir,  the  chief  hair-dresser,  and  it  must  be 
confessed  the  chief  retailer  of  gossip,  in  Berne. 

"This  is  indeed  a  pleasure,"  said  Monsieur  Lenoir,  and  he  is  po- 
lite enough  to  add,  "the  pleasanter  for  being  unexpected— eh,  my 
friend?" 

Lenoir  puts  his  head  on  one  side,  and  his  pointed  chin  digs  into 
his  collar.  He  is  a  little  dapper  man,  with  an  irresistible  likeness 
to  a  tomtit;  his  black  eyebrows  seem  almost  to  encircle  his  eyes, 
and  he  is  always  in  movement. 

"I  should  have  remembered,"  he  says,  before  Madame Bobineau's 
answer  is  ready,  "  it  is  for  mademoiselle  your  cousin's  sake.  Yes, 
yes,  it  is  like  your  kindness;"  and  now  a  twitter  of  complete  satis- 
faction goes  through  his  restless  body;  the  twitter  has  not  far  to  go, 
but  it  denotes  intense  enjoj-ment.  "Now  you  will  present  me  to 
the  charming  cousin.  There,  there,"  silencing  Madame  Bobineau's 
attempt  at  deprecation;  "she  is  charming,  I  hear  ;  a  little  bird  has 
told  me ;"  he  touches  his  left  ear  and  looks  inscrutable. 

Madame  Bobineau  is  on  thorns.  She  longs  to  get  rid  of  this  Ar- 
gus-eyed chatterer;  however,  unless  he  sees  Marie  and  Monsieur 
Engemann  he  cannot  tell  tales;  and  she  begins  to  walk  slowly  to- 
wards the  outer  fringe  of  the  crowd  in  the  hope  of  getting  rid  of  him. 

"Where  do  you  say  the  cousin  is?"  says  Lenoir. 

Madame  Bobineau  offers  a  thanksgiving  that  he  has  never  seen 
Marie.  "I  do  not  know, "she  says.  "She  left  me  a  while  ago. 
You  must  come  to  the  Red  Glove  and  see  her  there." 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE,  85 

She  feels  desperate.  She  knows  his  pertinacious  curiosity  too 
well  to  dismiss  him  abruptly,  and  so  she  walks  on  beside  him  in  a 
tremor  of  fear  lest  Marie  and  Monsieur  Engemann  should  appear 
together. 

Marie  is  growing  re-assured ;  with  such  a  powerful-looking  pro- 
tector she  feels  that  it  is  childish  to  give  way  to  terror.  She  tries 
even  to  laugh  at  the  unwieldy,  awkward  monster  who  stands  with 
one  huge  paw  laid  beseechingly  on  his  hairy  chest,  leering  up  at 
her  out  of  his  small  red  eyes.  His  shaggy  hide  is  quivering  with 
excitement,  and  to  all  appearance  he  is  laughing  as  he  opens  his 
mouth,  and  begs.  But  Marie  draws  back  again.  Just  now  among 
the  fancy  articles  on  the  stalls  she  has  seen  prints  representing  a 
man  who,  having  fallen  into  the  pit,  is  struggling  for  his  life  with 
these  bears.  It  seemed  to  the  girl  horrible  to  pet  and  play  with 
monsters  who  only  wanted  opportunity  to  repeat  the  cruel  tragedy 
that  they  had  once  enacted. 

At  this  moment  a  woman  beside  her  flung  the  brown  bear  a  car- 
rot; he  caught  it  dexterously  in  his  mouth,  and  crunched  it  amid 
the  loud  plaudits  of  the  spectators.  A  shower  of  carrots  now  fell 
into  the  den,  and  everybody  laughed  at  the  fawning  antics  of  the 
bears. 

But  Marie  could  not  enjoy  the  sight;  the  grotesque  contrast  be- 
tween the  comic  gambols  of  these  monsters  and  their  repulsive  sav- 
age aspect  was  horrible  to  her. 

"Mademoiselle  does  not  care  for  the  bears."  Engemann  had 
been  watching  her  serious  face. 

Marie  felt  ashamed.  It  seemed  ungrateful  not  to  be  pleased  with 
the  sight  that  this  kind  gentleman  had  been  at  the  trouble  of  show- 
ing her.  She  raised  her  eyes  with  a  protest  in  them ;  but  her  new 
friend  was  not  looking  vexed.  He  was,  on  the  contrary,  smiling 
in  a  way  that  soothed  her.  He  looked  satisfied  with  her,  Marie 
thought,  as  the  Superior  of  St.  Esprit  used  to  look  ;  and  besides 
this,  there  was  something  in  his  smile  that  drew  her  liking  out  to 
him  in  return.  She  felt  trust  in  him,  and  at  the  same  time  a  strong 
hope  that  she  should  see  his  frank,  manly  face  again.  Strong  feel- 
ings were  new  to  Marie.  They  had  not  been  elicited  among  the 
gentle  sisters,  who  had  never  thwarted  her,  and  who  had  by  their 
example  taught  her  content  with  her  daily  lot;  but  this  wish  came 
so  naturally  that  the  girl  yielded  to  it  without  distrust:  it  was  part 
of  the  pleasure  of  this  delightful  afternoon. 


86  AT  THE   RED   GLOVE. 

"Marie!  Marie!"  came  slirilly  from  the  back  of  the  crowd. 

Engemann  recognized  the  voice  of  his  landlady,  and  he  pushed 
on  before  Marie  so  as  to  open  a  passage  for  her. 

They  found  Madame  Bbbineau  fluttered  and  frowning,  but  she 
bestowed  a  smUe  on  her  lodger. 

"You  have  been  too  kind  and  condescending,  monsieur,"  she 
said,  quickly.  "I  am  sure  the  child  is  greatly  honored."  Then, 
with  a  nervous  look  round  her,  ' '  Thank  monsieur  for  his  goodness 
to  you,  Marie,  for  we  must  be  going. " 

Marie  looked  gi-ave.  She  felt  disappointed  at  this  sudden  col- 
lapse of  enjoyment. 

"  It  is  early  yet,  madame,"she  began;  and  she  looked  up  at  the 
blue  sky,  over  which,  however,  a  few  snowy  clouds  showed  like 
fragments  detached  from  the  Blumlis  Alp. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know  that.  You  think  of  the  weather,  my  girl.  I, 
on  the  contrary,  think  of  my  legs.  There  are  no  seats  to  be  had 
here;  the  place  is  too  full.  Come,  we  will  go  somewhere  else." 
She  courtesied  to  Monsieur  Engemann.  "Adieu,  monsieur,"  and 
catching  at  Marie's  arm,  she  walked  away  with  her. 

Monsieur  Lenoir  had  left  her  to  take  a  walk,  he  said,  but  Bobineau 
trembled  lest  some  other  gossiping  neighbors  should  see  and  report 
to  Madame  Carouge,  Monsieur  Eugemann's  attentions  to  Marie. 

Marie  murmured  her  thanks  as  she  passed  Monsieur  Engemann. 
She  felt  vexed  with  Madame  Bobineau. 

"I  wanted  to  stay,"  she  said.  "There  is  one  empty  seat  under 
the  trees,  if  you  like  to  go  back;  I  can  stand." 

Madame  Bobineau  hurried  out  of  the  enclosure.  "No,  no,  child. 
We  ought  to  be  going  home. " 

"What  is  the  name  of  that  gentleman,  madame?"  said  Marie, 
"lie  has  been  very  kind  to  me." 

The  old  woman  gave  her  a  keen  glance,  but  Marie's  eyes  looked 
simple  and  unconscious. 

"That  is  Monsieur  Engemann,  child.  He  is  a  grand  gentleman. 
You  must  treat  him  with  great  respect.  He  is  going  to  marry  the 
beautiful  lady  who  sent  the  cutlets  to-day,  Madame  Carouge." 

Marie  felt  surprised.  "I  thought  you  said  Madame  Carouge  was 
a  widow,  madame." 

"Yes,  she  is  a  widow;  but  what  of  that?  She  is  young  and 
handsome,  and,  besides — "  She  paused.  Then,  with  a  twinkle  in 
her  eyes,  she  said,  dryly:  "  She  has  what  a  young  man  like  Mon- 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE,  87 

sieur  Engcmann  cares  for  more  than  for  youth  and  beauty — she  has 
plenty  of  money,  all  she  can  wish  for,  Marie.  Ah!"  she  sighed  and 
smacked  her  colorless  lips  as  if  the  thought  were  appetizing.  Real- 
ly she  was  thinking  of  the  sweetbread  with  rich  brown  sauce  and 
cornet  a  la  creme  set  aside  for  supper  when  Marie  should  leave  her 
to  her  good-night. 

The  girl  walked  on  silently.  The  day  had  lost  some  of  its  bright- 
ness, she  thought.  This  Monsieur  Engemann  could  not  really  be  as 
nice  as  she  had  thought  him,  if  he  was  going  to  marry  a  rich  wife 
for  the  sake  of  her  money.  She  gave  a  little  sigh  as  they  walked 
on  beside  the  river.  She  had  been  wondering  when  she  should  see 
him  again. 

All  at  once  Madame  Bobineau  noticed  her  silence,  and  looking  up 
at  her,  she  saw  the  flush  that  made  the  girl's  pale  cheeks  glow  like 
a  China  rose  under  the  long  lashes  that  almost  touched  them. 

"  Yes,  yes,  little  girl,"  the  old  woman  said,  "but  for  that  I  should 
have  gone  after  you."  As  if  she  could  have  made  her  way  through 
the  throng!  thought  Marie.  "I  should  not  have  let  you  go  away 
with  a  stranger,  but  I  have  known  Monsieur  Engemann  for  some 
months. " 

"Ah!"  Marie  said. 

They  were  following  the  path  beside  the  river,  under  the  poplars 
that  fringe  the  foot  of  the  high  green  bank  on  which  stand  the 
houses  of  Berne.  Marie  looked  about  her,  and  tried  to  admire 
what  she  saw,  but  it  seemed  dull  and  flat  to  walk  here  alone  with 
Madame  Bobineau.  It  had  been  so  amusing  in  that  merry  chatter- 
ing crowd  by  the  Bear  Pit,  the  girl  thought  it  would  be  preferable 
to  go  back  into  the  town  and  stare  into  the  shop-windows  than  to 
saunter  on  here  with  her  old  cousin.  Her  holiday  had  made  her 
discontented. 

After  a  while  they  came  to  a  flight  of  stone  steps  in  the  side  of 
the  steep  green  bank.  Madame  Bobineau  gasped  before  she  reached 
the  top  of  these,  and  clung  heavily  to  Marie's  arm. 

"Ah,  ononDieu!  I  do  a  great  deal  for  you,  Marie;  but  I  never 
shrink  from  a  duty." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  the  girl  said;  "  but  we  can  sit 
down  here,  and  you  can  rest." 

' '  No,  no ;  I  am  tired,  and  we  have  still  far  to  go. " 

Madame  Bobineau  did  not  intend  to  take  Marie  past  the  Hotel 
Beauregard;  so  instead  of  making  for  the  main  thoroughfare,  she 


88  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

kept  in  back  streets,  and  went  even  a  little  out  of  her  way,  till 
finally  they  emerged  under  the  arcades  beside  the  Kafig  Thurm. 

Marie  did  not  at  first  see  how  near  they  were  to  the  Red  Glove. 
She  looked  round  her,  and  backed  against  some  one  coming  up  the 
street. 

"A  thousand  pardons,  mademoiselle."  And  there  was  Captain 
Loigerot's  bald  crown  shining  as  he  bowed  to  her.  "Aha,  Madame 
Bobineau!  You  have  been  showing  mademoiselle  the  beauties  of 
Berne.  That  is  right. "  He  rolled  from  one  leg  to  the  other.  He 
was  thoroughly  pleased  by  the  sight  of  Marie,  and  at  finding  his 
landlady  so  considerate.  "Mademoiselle  will  tell  me  what  she  has 
seen,  I  hope.  Permit  me,  madame "  —  and  he  placed  himself  be- 
tween the  two  ladies — "to  have  the  honor  of  walking  with  you. 
You  have,  perhaps,  been  to  the  Schanzli?" 

"  We  have  been  to  see  the  bears,"  Marie  said.  She  liked  the  cap- 
tain, but  she  felt  inclined  to  laugh  at  his  round,  good-tempered  face, 
which  looked  always  the  same. 

' '  Aha !  you  have  seen  the  bears.  That  is  right.  They  are  clever 
beasts.  And  did  you  like  them,  mademoiselle?"  He  looked  up  at 
her  admiringly. 

"  No,  monsieur.     I  think  they  look  cruel.     I  felt  afraid." 

The  captain  smiled.  "  I  wish  I  had  been  there  to  take  care  of 
you."  Then  he  turned  to  Madame  Bobineau.  "Did  you  meet 
Engemaun  there?  He  was  going,  for  he  asked  me  to  accompany 
him." 

Madame  Bobineau  hesitated,  but  she  felt  that  Marie  was  looking 
at  her  across  the  captain.  She  was  obliged  to  speak  truly.  ' '  Yes, 
we  saw  him,"  she  said. 

The  captain  turned  quickly  to  Marie ;  he  felt  a  little  sorry  that  he 
had  refused  Engeraann's  invitation.  "I  greatly  wish  I  had  been 
of  the  party,  mademoiselle.  You  should  not  have  been  afraid  if  I 
had  been  with  you." 

"You  are  very  kind,  monsieur."  This  good-natured  old  man,  as 
Marie  considered  him,  seemed  quite  an  old  acquaintance  since  her 
meeting  with  the  tall  young  Swiss.  "And  Monsieur  Engemann 
was  very  kind,  too ;  he  made  way  for  me  to  get  to  the  front,  so  that 
I  might  see  the  bears." 

"  Come,  come,  child,"  said  Madame  Bobineau;  "what  can  you  be 
thinking  of  to  keep  the  captain  from  his  walk?  Here  we  are  at  the 
door.     I  pray  you,  monsieur,  to  excuse  us  for  so  detaining  you." 


AT  TUE    RED   GLOVE.  89 

The  captain  was  looking  pensive,  but  at  this  he  rallied  into  a 
broad  smile. 

' '  Good-evening,  madame.  Mademoiselle,  I  have  the  honor  to  say- 
farewell — to  our  next  meeting,  madame  and  mademoiselle. " 

Madame  Bobineau  waits  till  his  sturdy,  widely-planted  legs  have 
carried  the  captain  some  way  up  the  street.  Then  she  shakes  her 
head  angrily  at  Marie.  "Mischievous  little  chatterbox,"  she  says, 
"you  have  done  harm  that  you  cannot  undo." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IN    THE     MIRROR. 


Meantime  Captain  Loigerot  had  blinked  and  winked  his  eyes, 
had  chuckled  and  rolled  from  one  side  of  the  pavement  to  the  other. 
What  mischief  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  make  between  the  fair 
widow  and  this  lofty  young  fellow  who  seemed  so  careless  about 
his  conquest! 

"I  cannot  make  him  out,"  the  stout  man  thought,  planting  his 
feet  wider  apart  than  ever.  "Why  is  he  so  backward  with  her? 
Is  he  cold,  or  afraid?  In  some  ways  it  might  help  to  bring  things 
to  an  iipshot  if  I  told  tales.  But  no ;  I  prefer  a  quiet  life,  and  she 
would  never  forgive  me.     No,  I'll  not  blab  if  I  can  help  it." 

At  dinner-time  Engemann  was  silent;  but  as  he  went  down-stairs 
he  fell  into  talk  with  Monsieur  Riesen,  who  always  dined  at  the 
Beauregard  on  a  Sunday.  They  were  in  full  talk  when  they  reached 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  passed  out  into  the  street  together.  But 
the  captain  lingered  behind  them.  He  felt  unusually  chatty,  and 
as  Engemann  had  deserted  him,  he  thought  he  would  go  round  to 
Madame  Carouge's  window.  He  coughed,  as  a  warning  of  his  ap- 
proach, and  then  glancing  in,  he  saw  her  sitting  on  her  sofa,  with  a 
look  of  weariness  on  her  beautiful  face, 

"  Good  -  evening,  madame,"  he  said.  "Have  you  been  out  this 
bright  day?" 

She  shook  her  head.     "  I  was  tired,  monsieur." 

The  captain's  shyness  deserted  him ;  it  seemed  to  him  that,  beauty 
though  she  was,  she  was,  after  all,  a  young  creature  in  want  of  ad- 
vice, and  he  felt  like  a  father  towards  her.  He  actually  stood  on 
the  threshold  and  looked  her  full  in  the  face.     "My  dear  lady,"  he 


90  AT  THE    RED   GLOVE. 

said,  "pardon  me.  How  is  it  that  I  never  see  you  enjoying  your- 
self abroad?" 

Madame  Carouge  gave  a  languid  smile.  ' '  I  Lave  so  few  friends, 
and  it  is  dull  to  be  alone  in  a  crowd." 

"Pardon  me,  madame;  I  am  sure  that  Engemann" — she  raised 
her  head  proudly,  and  he  hurried  on — "or  I  should  only  be  too 
happy  to  be  permitted  to  accompany  you.  Believe  me,  madame," 
he  held  up  his  head  and  expanded  his  chest,  "recreation  is  as  nec- 
essary as  food  is,  and  air  and  sunshine  are  as  necessary  as  recrea- 
tion is.  Why,  even  old  Madame  Bobineau  has  taken  holiday  to- 
day." 

"Indeed!"  Madame  Carouge  spoke  lazily.  She  was  mortified 
by  Engemann's  avoidance.  She  wanted  her  visitor  to  understand 
that  his  presence  was  undesired.  "  She  took  her  little  cousin  out, 
I  suppose?" 

"Yes  ;  she  has  been  with  her  cousin  to  the  Bear  Pit  — "  Loi- 
gerot  stopped  abruptly;  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  gone  peril- 
ously near  the  edge.  But  he  would  not  blab ;  he  was  resolved  not 
to  blab.  And  yet  the  longer  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  unnecessary 
it  seemed  to  him  that  Engemann  should  have  paid  attention  in  pub- 
lic to  a  young  girl  like  Marie,  when  he  must  surely  be  on  the  eve  of 
proposing  for  Madame  Carouge — if,  indeed,  he  was  not  her  accepted 
lover;  for  the  captain  fancied  sometimes  that  the  young  fellow's 
indifference  was  assumed. 

"  Did  you  escort  them,  monsieur?"  the  widow  asked.  "Ah!  that 
was  kind  of  you." 

The  captain  rolled  from  one  leg  to  the  other.  He  would  not  blab, 
but  he  was  too  honest  and  humble-minded  to  accept  praise  he  had 
not  earned.  He  was  troubled,  and  looking  up,  he  saw  in  the  wid- 
ow's fixed  gaze  that  he  had  betrayed  his  uneasiness. 

"No,  madame,  it  was  not  I,"  he  stammered,  and  looked  at  her 
more  boldly,  his  round  red  face  full  of  alarm. 

Madame  Carouge  returned  his  gaze  fully.  "They  went  alone, 
then?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  madame."  Then  with  an  effort  he  went  on:  "Mademoi- 
selle Marie  she  was  afraid  of  the  bears :  she  is— she  is  timid.  Have 
you  seen  her,  madame!     She  is  a  charming  girl." 

"  Is  she?"  Madame  spoke  dryly,  and  Loigerot  felt  that  the  only 
thing  left  for  him  was  to  wish  her  good-evening  and  escape.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  the  floor  was  sinking  under  his  feet  as  he  stam- 


AT    THE    RED    (iLOVE.  91 

mered  out  his  farewell,  and  he  hardly  knew  how  he  reached  the 
street. 

" Mon  Dieu,  Achille,  you  should  mind  your  own  business;"  he 
took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  his  perspiring  face.  "This  is 
what  comes  of  mixing  one's  self  up  in  the  affairs  of  others.  The 
widow  suspects;  and  a  woman  who  suspects  is  the  devil  for  finding 
out.  What  do  I  know?  She  is  perhaps  capable  of  making  old 
Bobineau  tell  her  the  truth,  and  if  she  sees  Marie,  it  will  be  all  up 
with  Engemann.     Great  heavens!  I  do  not  envy  him." 

The  captain  went  home  that  evening  utterly  crestfallen.  Even 
the  walk  he  had  taken  to  smooth  his  ruffled  spirits  had  proved  a 
failure.  He  had  a  consciousness  that  things  were  going  wrong,  and 
that  he  was  to  blame.  But  for  all  that,  when  he  had  smoked  his 
last  cigar,  he  went  to  bed  and  slept  so  soundly  that  Rudolf  Enge- 
mann, who  slept  overhead,  had  a  fearful  dream,  in  which  an  ava- 
lanche came  sweeping  down  on  him,  and  he  roused  up  in  alarm  to 
find  that  the  noise  that  had  so  disturbed  him  was  created  by  the 
snoring  of  Captain  Loigerot. 

Madame  Carouge  was  less  fortunate.  She  did  not  snore,  but  her 
sleep  was  harassed  by  sad,  tormenting  dreams.  Something  in  the 
captain's  manner  had  made  her  uneasy ;  it  was  too  absurd  a  feeling 
to  confess,  and  she  laughed  and  blushed  as  she  told  herself  it  would 
never  do  to  be  jealous  of  a  girl  whom  she  had  never  seen,  who  was 
perhaps  a  commonplace  child ;  besides,  she  had  no  proof  that  Mon- 
sieur Engemann  had  seen  the  girl.  Even  if  he  had  seen  her,  her 
thoughts  went  on,  she  wronged  him  by  this  doubt.  But  she  had 
never  found  self-mastery  so  difficult.  The  thought  seemed  banished 
— laughed  at ;  it  was  impossible  it  should  return  ;  and  then,  all  at 
once,  there  it  was,  stronger  than  ever.  At  last  she  fell  asleep,  but 
next  morning  her  eyes  looked  heavy  and  she  was  paler  than  usual. 

Sharp-eyed  Lenoir,  the  hair-dresser,  who  came  to  her  every  morn- 
ing as  soon  as  she  had  drank  her  chocolate,  saw  at  a  glance  that 
something  ailed  her;  and  while  he  combed  out  the  long  strands  of 
fine  soft  hair  before  he  plaited  it  into  the  rich  braids  which  gave  her 
head  such  an  artistic  finish,  he  pondered  what  could  have  happened 
to  disturb  his  fair  customer.  He  had  had  the  daily  care  of  Madame 
Carouge's  hair  ever  since  she  came  to  the  Hotel  Beauregard,  and  he 
was  attached  to  the  splendid  wealth  of  tresses,  and  identified  himself 
with  their  beauty ;  but  his  curiosity  was  his  strongest  passion,  and 
he  would  take  any  trouble  to  gratify  it. 

4* 


92  AT    THE    RED    GLOVE. 

"  Was  madame  out  yesterday?    It  was  a  beautiful  day." 

"No."  Madame  Carouge  always  felt  dreamy  while  her  hair  was 
being  dressed,  and  she  was  entirely  unconscious  of  the  keen  watch 
kept  on  her  face  as  she  sat  before  a  long  mirror  in  her  bedroom. 

"It  was  indeed  beautiful.  I  never  saw  so  many  people  out  in  all 
directions.     The  bear  platform  was  crowded." 

Madame  Carouge  moved  her  head  ever  so  little,  and  Lenoir's  at- 
tention was  roused.  He  too  had  heard  the  gossip  about  the  beauti- 
ful widow  and  Monsieur  Engemann.  He  did  not  approve  of  such 
an  idea,  and  he  declined  to  believe  in  it;  but  there  was  nothing  like 
certainty. 

"  Really,"  she  said;  and  then,  unable  to  restrain  herself,  she  asked 
a  question  she  wished  unspoken  as  soon  as  it  had  passed  her  lips. 
"Did  you  see  any  one  at  the  Bear  Pit  you  knew,  Monsieur  Lenoir?" 

Before  he  answered  she  felt  her  face  flush  with  shame  at  her  own 
want  of  dignity.  Lenoir  was  feeling  for  hair-pins  in  the  pocket  of 
his  apron. 

"Oh  yes,  madame" — he  spoke  indistinctly;  for,  let  me  tell  you,  it 
is  not  so  easy  to  converse  when  you  have  just  put  two  hair-pins  in 
your  mouth — "more  than  one — more  than  one."  His  attention  was 
a  little  disturbed,  for  he  was  creating  a  new  arrangement  in  the  knot 
of  plaits,  and  for  the  moment  his  art  was  all-absorbing.  "  A  little 
to  the  left,  madame,  if  you  please."  Just  then,  as  he  contemplated, 
with  his  head  on  one  side,  the  new  complication  in  profile,  he  dis- 
cerned a  subtle,  anxious  expression  in  the  widow's  beautiful  eyes 
which  had  looked  to  him  so  heavy.  It  was  enough ;  his  curiosity 
blazed  into  full  flame.  "Yes,  madame"  —  he  kept  a  devouring 
watch  on  the  glowing  face  in  the  glass,  serenely  triumphant  in  the 
knowledge  that  it  had  no  means  of  hiding  its  secret  from  him — "  I 
saw  many  friends  yesterday;  friends  of  yours  too."  He  emphasized 
the  last  words,  and  Madame  Carouge  looked  up  suddenly  in  the 
glass  before  her.  It  was  impossible  to  mistake  the  expression  of  the 
sharp  dark  eyes  she  saw  in  the  little  face  perked  on  one  side.  She 
gave  almost  a  sigh  of  self-congratulation,  and  sat  motionless  as  if  her 
face  had  been  carved  in  stone.  Lenoir  went  on:  "I  saw  Madame 
Bobineau  and  a  young  girl — a  pretty  creature— a  relation,  she  tells 
me,  who  lias  come  to  live  with  her." 

"  Ah,  yes!"    Madame  Carouge  spoke  very  languidly. 

"  I  saw  also  Monsieur  Engemann."  Lenoir  felt  impatient  of  her 
indifference.     Even  this  announcement  failed  to  produce  any  effect 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  93 

on  the  beautiful  still  face.  "He  is  certainly  very  kind;  he  was 
taking  charge  of  Madame  Bobineau's  cousin.  I  fancy  the  old  wom- 
an could  not  make  her  way  through  the  crowd  to  the  edge  of  the 
pit." 

"Probably  not,"  said  Madame  Carouge. 

Lenoir  had  grown  desperate.  He  knew  very  well  that  he  was  in- 
dispensable; even  if  he  gave  offence,  he  must  try  a  last  chance.  "It 
was  a  new  character  for  Monsieur  Engemann  to  assume.  He  does 
not  usually  seem  much  of  a  lady's  man.  But  then  one  can  never 
tell." 

He  had  shot  his  last  arrow,  and  without  result.  The  only  change 
in  Madame  Carouge's  face  was  that  she  looked  bored,  and  now  she 
put  one  shapely  hand  to  her  lips  to  hide  a  yawn. 

Lenoir  brought  down  his  eyebrows  into  a  frown  that  made  him 
look  spiteful.  He  drew  the  peignoir  from  madame's  shoulders, 
folded  it,  and  then  rolled  up  his  apron.  "  I  have  the  honor  to  wish 
madame  a  good-morning, "  he  said. 

"Good-morning,"  said  Madame  Carouge. 

He  felt  so  angry  that  he  made  a  grimace  as  he  went  down-stairs. 


CHAPTER  .Xni. 

A    PAIR    OF    GLOVES. 


Rudolf  Engemann  had  been  awakened  during  the  night  by  the 
supposed  avalanche,  but  his  morning  dreams  must  have  been  pleas- 
sant,  for  when  he  opened  his  eyes  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  sunshine 
ought  to  have  streamed  in  at  his  windows  to  match  the  bright  fresh- 
ness of  his  feelings.  He  did  not  trouble  himself  to  inquire  whence 
the  feeling  came,  but  he  was  sensible  of  a  new  and  pleasant  antici- 
pation. Life  had  suddenly  opened  itself  at  a  page  which  suggested 
other  pages  of  interest  beyond  it.  The  puzzled  vexation  of  the  past 
week  had  fled;  he  felt  once  more  simple  and  self-possessed;  and  he 
told  himself  that  if  there  were  time,  he  would  stop  and  have  a  few 
minutes'  talk  with  Madame  Carouge  before  he  went  to  the  bank  this 
morning. 

It  was  hardly  in  pursuance  of  this  end,  however,  that  he  turned 
back  from  the  house  door  and  looked  in  at  the  shop-window  of  the 
Red  Glove, 


94  AT  THE    EED   GLOVE. 

Marie  was  there  alone.  She  had  evidently  been  dusting  the  coun- 
ter, for  a  feather  brush  lay  on  it,  and  she  was  giving  the  last  touches 
to  a  tasteful  display  of  embroidery  in  the  farthest  window. 

"I  believe  I  want  a  pair  of  gloves,"  he  thought,  as  he  pushed  the 
shop  door  open. 

Marie  went  back  to  her  place  behind  the  counter.  She  smiled  and 
blushed  when  Monsieur  Engemann  bowed  to  her ;  then  she  glanced 
to  the  green-curtained  window  and  saw  that  Madame  Bobineau  was 
not  at  her  post  of  observation. 

Engemann  thought,  as  he  looked  at  Marie,  she  was  much  prettier 
without  her  hat,  her  head  was  so  well  placed,  and  her  hair  was  so 
bright  it  looked  as  if  it  glowed  with  imprisoned  sunshine.  There 
was  such  an  indescribable  atmosphere  of  youth  and  freshness  about 
her  that  at  once  she  became  part  of  the  joy  that  had  awakened  with 
him,  and  he  felt  very  happy. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  monsieur?"  Marie  gave  him  a  grateful 
glance ;  she  had  been  thinking  ever  since  yesterday  of  his  kindness. 

"Yes,  if  you  please,  mademoiselle ;  I  want  some  gloves." 

"What  kind  of  gloves  does  monsieur  wish  for,"  said  Marie,  de- 
murely— "  dark  gloves  or  light  gloves?" 

Rudolf  Engemann  was  not  ready-witted,  and  he  had  not  prepared 
himself  for  this  question ;  he  looked  into  Marie's  soft  gray  eyes  with 
so  bewildered  a  gaze  that  she  smiled.     He  reddened  a  little. 

' '  It  does  not  signify — any  sort, "  he  said,  hurriedly ;  and  indeed 
this  was  the  truth.  He  was  aware  that  he  did  not  want  gloves  ;  he 
only  wanted  a  pretext  for  talking  to  Marie. 

The  answer  chimed  in  with  the  girl's  gay  humor;  it  sounded  so 
absurd  that  she  began  to  laugh  while  she  placed  a  box  of  gloves  be- 
fore him.  Then,  meeting  his  eyes,  she  remembered  Madame  Bobi- 
neau's  warning  against  laughter,  and  grew  grave  in  an  instant. 
Somehow  the  little  flush  that  had  come  with  her  repressed  look  en- 
couraged Engemann. 

"  Something  amuses  mademoiselle." 

Marie  bent  down  her  head,  ashamed,  and  Engemann  affected  to 
look  round  the  shop.  "There  is  nothing  else,"  he  said,  as  if  to 
himself;  "  it  must  be  I,  then,  who  have  caused  mademoiselle  amuse- 
ment." 

Marie  felt  compelled  to  raise  her  eyes  to  the  gaze  so  strongly  fixed 
on  hers. 

"I  beg  monsieur's  pardon." 


AT  THE  RED   GLOVE.  95 

She  said  it  so  penitently,  and  looked  so  winning  in  bor  humility, 
that  Engemann  felt  his  enjoyment  deepen;  it  seemed  as  if  all  kinds 
of  possibilities  lay  before  him  in  the  way  of  pleasant  talks  with  this 
stranger;  he  was  as  gay  as  a  butterfly  in  the  fresh  young  sympathy 
that  had  so  quickly  established  itself  between  them ;  it  might  have 
existed  for  years,  it  was  so  secure.  He  did  not  trouble  himself  to 
analyze  his  feelings;  he  simply  enjoyed  them,  and  felt  purified  and 
freshened  into  a  more  spring-like  mood. 

All  this  time  the  two  young  creatures  had  been  studying  each 
other's  eyes.  Marie  looked  back  to  the  gloves ;  the  flush  on  her  face 
had  grown  deeper;  her  manner  was  a  little  hurried. 

"  Does  monsieur  like  these" — she  held  up  a  pair  of  yellow-brown 
gloves — "if  they  are  the  right  size?" 

She  darted  a  glance  towards  the  green  curtain.  She  knew  that  she 
was  not  fulfilling  her  instructions. 

" Mafoi,"  said  Engemann,  "  I — I" — he  looked  at  his  large  hand 
and  then  at  Marie — "I  am  not  sure  about  my  size." 

He  wanted  her  to  measure  the  glove  across  his  knuckles ;  but  some- 
thing, in  spite  of  her  little  burst  of  laughter,  kept  him  in  check.  He 
did  not  know  it,  but  there  was  a  helpless,  appealing  look  in  his  blue 
eyes  that  touched  and  amused  Marie ;  it  gave  her  confidence  to  think 
that  she  could  be  of  use  to  this  tall  gentleman. 

"Allow  me,"  she  said,  gravel}^ ;  her  hands  trembled  a  little,  but 
she  measured  the  glove  across  his  knuckles  with  a  dainty  grace ;  her 
•soft,  warm  fingers  gave  him  an  exquisite  thrill  of  pleasure;  it  seemed 
to  him  that  she  was  absolutely  fascinating. 

"  Shall  I  stretch  them,  monsieur?" 

"  If  you  please,  mademoiselle." 

He  wished  her  to  do  anything  which  might  prolong  this  pleasant 
time.  He  stood  looking  at  Marie  with  delight  while  she  was  ma- 
nipulating the  pretty  little  pair  of  stretchers  with  which  Madame  Bo- 
bineau  had  intrusted  her. 

Marie  knew  that  he  was  looking  at  her.  She  was  not  quite  sure 
whether  she  ought  to  like  his  admiration,  but  she  felt  that  she  did 
like  it ;  her  heart  began  to  beat  in  a  most  unusual  fashion.  She  was 
putting  the  gloves  in  paper,  when  a  bright  idea  came  to  Engemann 
— he  saw  an  easy  way  of  prolonging  this  delightful  time. 

"I  will  have  another  pair  of  gloves — not  this  kind— lighter  ones, 
if  you  please." 

He  thought  that  if  he  chose  the  gloves  out  of  the  same  packet, 


96  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

Marie  might  consider  the  fit  certain,  and  he  should  lose  the  pleasure 
of  having  them  measured.  He  had  no  use  that  he  knew  of  for  light 
gloves,  and  certaialy  he  had  no  superfluous  money  to  spend  on  them. 
But  while  Marie  carefully  replaced  the  box  out  of  which  he  had 
made  his  first  purchase,  and  took  down  another  box  from  the  high 
shelf  behind  her,  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  might  be  proper  to  wear 
light  gloves  when  he  went  to  Thun  with  Madame  Carouge. 

"Which  color  does  monsieur  prefer?"  Marie  was  trying  to  re- 
member her  lesson. 

"  It  does  not  signify,"  said  Rudolf.  "I  will  leave  it  to  mademoi- 
selle to  choose  them  for  me.  She  knows  more  about  gloves  than  I." 
He  smiled  at  her. 

Marie  laughed.  "No,  monsieur,  I  have  never  worn  gloves.  I  have 
lived  among  sisters,  and  they  do  not  wear  them." 

"But  you  will  wear  them  now,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  perhaps;"  here  she  looked  a  little  grave,  and  opening  two 
packets  she  spread  before  him  a  heap  of  delicate  shades  of  color — 
pink  and  primrose  and  lavender. 

"They  are  very  pretty,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  more  than  at  the 
gloves. 

Marie  wondered  whether  she  should  ever  possess  anything  so 
dainty. 

"  These  are  pretty;"  she  drew  a  pair  of  pale  citron-color  from  the 
heap.     "  I  think  these  will  do— if  monsieur  will  permit  me." 

Engemann  put  out  his  hand  only  a  little.  She  looked  so  pretty 
bending  forward,  and  he  knew  she  must  do  it  to  measure  across  his 
hand. 

"  Ah!"  he  said,  as  she  finished,  "I  fear  they  may  be  a  little. short. 
"Will  mademoiselle  measure  the  fingers?" 

Marie  had  not  practised  this  art,  and  she  had  to  do  it  twice  before 
she  succeeded,  for  at  first  she  put  the  thumb-tip  to  his  finger-tips, 
and  vice  versa.     She  looked  up  smiling  at  Engemann. 

"Pardon,  monsieur,"  she  said,  and  then  she  felt  a  little  vexed,  for 
something  in  the  glance  she  had  met  made  her  heart  beat  fast,  and 
her  fingers  become  suddenly  limp  and  awkward. 

Engemann,  too,  was  silent;  he  wished  Marie  would  raise  her  eyes 
to  his. 

And  while  the  girl  stood  in  this  disturbed,  nervous  condition, 
there  came,  grating  harshly  into  the  soft  silence  that  had  followed 
her  last  glance,  the  voice  of  Madame  Bobineaij, 


'  J  L 


7/f/v5' 


THERE    WAS    A  HELPLESS,  APPEALING    LOOK    IN    HIS    BLUE    EYES. 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE,  99 

' '  Good-morning,  Monsieur  Engemann, "  it  said.  ' '  I  hope  you  have 
found  what  you  want." 

Engemann  felt  a  little  foolish,  and  he  turned  a  solemn  face  to 
his  landlady.  He  was  vexed,  too,  that  the  pleasant  time  was 
over. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  madame;"  and  then  it  occurred  to  him  that  Ma- 
dame Bobineau's  arrival  was  in  a  way  opportune;  it  had  removed 
from  him  the  necessity  of  paying  Marie  for  the  gloves;  this  would 
have  been  disagreeable. 

"Monsieur  will,  then,  have  this  pair  also?" 

Marie  held  up  the  citron-colored  gloves.  She,  too,  had  looked  at 
Madame  Bobineau,  and  she  saw  that  though  the  old  woman  had 
smiled  at  the  customer,  she  had  next  minute  given  a  reproving  glance 
in  her  direction;  she  felt  that  she  could  not  bear  to  be  scolded  be- 
fore her  new  friend.  She  folded  the  gloves,  and  after  putting  them 
in  paper,  she  placed  them  on  madame's  desk,  and  then  began  care- 
fully to  set  in  order  and  put  away  the  delicately  tinted  heap  which 
she  had  scattered  on  the  counter  for  Rudolf's  choice. 

Monsieur  Engemann  went  to  the  desk  and  paid  for  his  purchase ; 
he  wished  Madame  Bobineau  good-morning;  then  he  came  back  to 
the  counter. 

' '  Good-morning,  Madenjoiselle  Marie, "  he  said.  "  I  thank  you  for 
your  kindness." 

He  wished  to  shake  hands,  but  he  felt  that  Madame  Bobineau 
might  object  to  this. 

The  old  woman  came  forward  iind  opened  the  door.  She  stood 
looking  down  the  street  after  her  lodger.  She  was  very  angry,  and 
yet  it  was  difficult  to  find  a  scape-goat  to  bear  her  wrath.  Marie  had 
succeeded  in  selling  two  pairs  of  gloves  to  a  man  who  rarely  bought 
anything  in  the  shop;  it  would  be  both  unjust  and  impolitic  to  scold 
Marie,  and  yet  her  wrath  burned  fiercely. 

"  That  young  man  will  be  Jate  at  the  bank,"  she  muttered.  "  Such 
a  time  of  day  to  choose  for  buying  gloves!  You  must  not  expect 
every  one  to  thank  you,  Marie,"  she  said,  sharply,  "Monsieur 
Engemann  is  a  grand  gentleman,  but  he  is  young,  and,  besides,  he  is 
not  much  in  the  habit  of  buying  gloves. " 

Almost  as  she  spoke  Madame  Bobineau  felt  that  she  had  made  an 
unwise  admission. 

Marie  expected  a  lecture;  she  had  grown  accustomed  to  unde- 
served scoldings;  it  seemed  to  her  that  each  time  she  had  spoken  to 


100  AT   THE   EED   GLOVE. 

a  gentleman  she  had  evoked  a  storm,  and  now,  relieved  at  being  let 
off  so  easily,  she  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands  gayly. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said — "so  glad  he  bought  them  of  me! 
I  like  him  so  much — oh,  so  very  much!" 

"Chut!  nonsense!  Like,  indeed!  How  often,  then,  must  I  ask 
you,  child,  to  have  a  little  common-sense?  You  are  not  wanted  to 
like  the  customers.  Do  you  suppose  that  customers  think  about 
you?  Do  you  think  a  gentleman  like  Monsieur  Engemann  notices 
the  difference  between  one  shop-girl  and  another  ?" 

Till  to-day  Marie  had  tried  to  remember  the  Superior's  advice, 
and  although  she  had  inwardly  rebelled,  she  had  taken  her  scoldings  in 
silence ;  but  to-day  her  tongue  seemed  to  move  without  her  guidance. 

"  I  am  sure  he  does,"  she  said. 

Madame  Bobineau  looked  at  her,  but  Marie  met  her  angry  eyes 
fearlessly;  a  bright  spot  of  red  burned  in  each  cheek,  but  there  was 
a  confidence  in  her  manner  that  was  almost  triumphant.  She  felt 
that  she  was  no  longer  friendless  in  Berne. 

Madame  Bobineau  only  understood  one  side  of  human  nature — its 
weakness  and  its  double  motives — and  she  at  once  assumed  that  harm 
lurked  in  the  girl's  courage. 

"  You  are  as  vain  as  you  are  silly," she  said,  "and  I  am  afraid  you 
are  not  fit  to  stand  behind  a  counter ;  I  am  afraid  you  stare  at  gen- 
tlemen, Marie,  and  try  to  be  admired.  I  wonder  what  the  sisters 
would  think  of  you?"  Then  seeing  that  the  girl  still  smWed,  "You 
little  fool,  do  you  suppose  men  are  what  they  seem?  Why,  at  this 
very  moment,  if  he  thinks  of  you  at  all,  Monsieur  Engemann  is  turn- 
ing you  into  ridicule  with  his  fellow-clerks;  or,  if  he  ventures  to  men- 
tion such  a  subject  to  her,  he  is  perhaps  telling  Madame  Carouge 
what  a  vain  little  puss  I  am  plagued  with  as  shop-girl." 

Marie  stood  leaning  against  the  counter.  As  she  listened  she 
grew  rosy,  the  rich  color  glowed  through  her  fair  hair,  and  when  the 
old  woman  spoke  of  Madame  Carouge,  scorching,  angry  tears  fell 
sparkling  on  her  hot  face. 

"I  do  not  believe  it;  he  is  not  double-faced.  He  is  good — I  am 
sure  he  is ;  he  would  not  do.  such  false,  mean  things. "  And  then, 
overmastered  by  the  sudden  fear  the  old  woman's  words  had  called 
up,  she  flung  her  arms,  on  the  counter,  and  burying  her  face  in  them, 
she  sobbed  loudly. 

Madame  Bobineau  had  relieved  her  temper,  and  now  her  sense  of 
propriety  came  to  Marie's  help. 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  101 

"Great  heavens,  cliild!  how  can  you  be  so  violent!  Nicely  the 
sisters  have  trained  you,  I  must  say!  Have  done,  will  you?"  But 
the  sobs  went  on  vehemently.  "There,  there,  child;  I  did  not  say 
it  was  so ;  I  said  perhaps ;  for,  as  you  say,  IMonsieur  Engemann  is 
good  and  kind.  I  only  mean  to  warn  you,  Marie,  to  show  you  to 
what  your  vanity  exposes  you.  Come,  come ;"  she  patted  her 
shoulder.  ' '  A  customer  will  arrive  and  find  you  sobbing.  Come, 
come,  child;  if  you  must  cry,  go  into  my  room,  and  I  will  mind  the 
shop  till  you  come  to  your  senses. " 

Marie  seemed  to  feel  the  force  of  this  appeal.  She  tried  to  check 
her  sobs,  and  lifting  up  her  swollen,  tear-stained  face,  she  went  slow- 
Ij^  into  the  little  room,  and  shut  the  green-curtained  door  behind  her. 
Then  she  dropped  into  Madame  Bobineau's  easy-chair,  and  hid  her 
shame-stricken  face.  Her  sobs  had  ceased ;  she  was  alarmed  at  the 
tumult  which  had  broken  out  in  her. 

"What  would  the  sisters  say  to  me?  They  would  not  know 
their  little  Marie;  they  would  not  believe  I  could  be  so  wicked  and 
passionate — and  yet  it  is  true." 

She  got  up  and  went  to  the  little  dingy  mirror  at  which  Madame 
Bobineau  smoothed  her  hair  before  she  went  into  the  shop.  Marie 
gazed  mournfully  at  her  own  reflection.  Certainly  she  did  not  look 
like  the  Marie  who  had  just  now  laughed  so  merrily ;  her  eyes  were 
glazed  with  tears,  and  her  lips  were  swelled  and  pouting. 

"Yes,  I  am  changed.  I  look  cross  and  horrid;  and  if  I  stay  here 
I  shall  grow  wicked.  I  can't  like  Madame  Bobineau;  directly  I 
begin  to,  she  says  something  cruel,  and  makes  me  feel  stung  all  over. 
And  oh!  I  do  hate  Madame  Carouge.  .  .  .  What  would  the  dear 
Mother  say  if  I  told  her  that?  But  I  will  go  back  and  tell  her 
everything.     1  shall  soon  forget  that  I  ever  came  to  Berne. " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

UNEXPECTED  EST  ALL  WAYS. 

Dinner  was  just  over  at  the  Red  Glove.  Marie  had  gone  back 
to  her  place  behind  the  counter,  and  Madame  Bobineau  had  returned 
to  the  little  room  behind  the  shop.  After  pulling  the  curtain  across 
her  spy-window  and  bolting  the  door,  she  had  just  taken  from  a 
little  cupboard  the  remains  of  her  last  night's  supper — a  cornet  of 
pastry  tilled  with  whipped  cream. 


102  AT   THE    EED   GLOVE. 

She  had  had  a  sleepless  night  pondering  what  might  come  of  the 
unlucky  meeting  with  Monsieur  Engemann  and  of  Marie's  indiscreet 
revelations  to  Captain  Loigerot.  She  had  not  by  any  means  for- 
given Marie,  and  had  scarcely  spoken  to  her;  and  now,  as  she  greedi- 
ly crammed  the  cream  into  her  toothless  mouth,  she  sadly  wondered 
if  it  would  be  the  last  dainty  she  should  receive  from  Madame  Ca- 
rouge. 

A  knock  at  the  private  door  made  her  start  and  almost  choke. 
She  got  up,  spluttering  and  coughing.  The  sound  was  most  un- 
usual; her  lodgers  knew  that  they  had  only  to  turn  the  door-handle 
to  let  themselves  in,  and  they  never  had  visitors;  their  letters  and 
parcels  were  delivered  in  the  shop;  and,  besides,  parcels  would  not 
come  with  an  authoritative  knock  like  the  one  just  given. 

By  this  time  she  stood  at  the  door,  and  turning  the  handle  she 
opened  it. 

There  stood  before  her  a  vision  that  made  her  totter  so  that  she 
leaned  against  the  wall  for  support. 

It  was  Madame  Carouge,  pale  and  grave,  but  looking  beautiful  as 
ever,  in  a  charming  little  bonnet.  She  was,  of  course,  in  black,  a 
rich  lace  scarf  carelessly  draped  around  her  graceful  shoulders. 

She  went  forward  into  the  dark  entrance  without  waiting  to  be 
invited,  her  beauty  and  the  costly  silk  and  lace  about  her  in  incon- 
gruous contrast  with  the  mean  surroundings.  It  was  as  if  a  grace- 
ful swan  were  to  sail  proudly  along  some  muddy  ditch  by  the  road- 
side. 

But  Madame  Bobineau's  wits  quickly  came  back  to  her. 

"  This  is  indeed  an  honor,  madame,"  she  said. 

She  hurried  after  her  guest,  and  she  pushed  wide  open  the  door  of 
her  little  sitting-room.  "Mon  Bieuf"  she  said  to  herself ,"  what  a 
mercy  that  I  had  eaten  up  the  pastry!" 

There  was  the  empty  plate  on  the  table,  but  the  room  was  per- 
fectly neat. 

"Ah!  madame,  this  condescension  is  adorable."  She  drew  for- 
ward her  one  easy-chair.  "  If  I  had  only  known  I  was  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  this  visit,  I  would  have  been  prepared." 

She  kept  her  keen  eyes  fixed  on  her  visitor,  and  she  saw  that  al- 
though Madame  Carouge  smiled,  there  was  a  constraint  in  her  man- 
ner she  was  not  accustomed  to  see  there. 

"This  visit  is  not  to  you,  Madame  Bobineau;  I  come  to  see  your 
cousin.     I  am  interested  in  her."    Ilcr  full  upper  lip  curved  with 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  103 

scorn  at  the  alarm  that  showed  for  an  instant  in  the  old  woman's 
face.  "  Shall  we  go  into  the  shop,  or  will  mademoiselle  come  to  me 
here?"  she  said,  politely. 

Madame  Bobineau  put  up  her  hand  in  deprecation.  "I  will  go 
and  fetch  her,"  she  said;  "  she  shall  come  directly  if  she  is  not  serv- 
ing." 

"And  if  she  is,  you  can  take  her  place,"  the  beautiful  woman  said. 
She  looked  round  the  mean  room  with  repugnance  rather  than  with 
pity.  She  had  only  called  once  before  on  Madame  Bobineau,  and 
then  she  had  seen  her  in  the  shop.  The  pinched,  bare  aspect  of  the 
place  vexed  her;  it  took  her  back  to  the  time  when  she,  too,  and  her 
mother  were  alarmed  at  the  rare  advent  of  a  visitor,  and  suffered 
shame  afterwards  at  having  been  seen  in  their  shabby  every-day 
gowns. 

But  in  a  moment  or  so  Madame  Carouge  unbent  her  brows  and 
smiled  at  her  own  disturbance.  She  wondered — as  if  she  were  some 
one  else — why  this  fresh  idea  should  have  dawned  on  the  trouble 
she  had  been  struggling  with  ever  since  last  night — a  trouble  which 
in  morning  light  she  had  told  herself  was  a  folly ;  and  then  had 
come  Lenoir's  story  confirming  the  warning  her  fears  had  given. 
While  she  sat  listening  statue-like  before  her  glass,  Madame  Carouge 
had  told  herself  that  the  only  way  to  end  such  a  folly  was  to  up- 
root it. 

She  did  not  doubt  Rudolf  Engemann.  It  was  an  insult  to  him  to 
suppose  his  love  so  light  that  a  chance  meeting  with  another  woman 
could  turn  it  away  from  her.  While  Captain  Loigerot  had  spoken 
of  Marie,  an  idea  had  come  to  her,  and  she  resolved,  if  possible,  to 
act  upon  it. 

"Possible!" — she  smiled  at  herself — "do  not  I  know  what  young 
girls  are  like?  they  want  liberty  and  ease  and  as  much  pleasure  as 
money  can  give  them ;  and  a  girl  who  has  been  brought  up  in  a  con- 
vent will  have  fewer  desires  than  I  had ;  she  will  consider  me  a 
benefactress." 

Still,  the  expression  on  her  face  was  not  that  of  perfect  content  as 
she  sat  looking  at  the  glass  door.  It  was,  however,  the  other  door 
that  opened,  and  Madame  Bobineau  came  in,  followed  by  Marie. 

The  girl  was  impressed  at  first  sight  by  the  grand-looking  lady 
sitting  opposite  her.  Madame  Carouge  half  rose,  bent  her  head 
slightly  in  acknowledgment  of  the  girl's  deferential  bow,  and  then 
they  looked  at  each  other. 


104  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

There  was  a  striking  contrast  between  them.  Marie's  creana-wliite 
skin,  with  the  faintest  tinge  stealing  into  her  cheeks,  was  like  a  pale 
Malmaison  rose,  while  the  rich  color  that  spread  over  Madame  Ca- 
rouge's  golden  complexion  at  sight  of  so  much  beauty  likened  her 
to  the  flame  tint  of  a  pomegranate  blossom. 

There  was  no  contrast  in  the  feelings  of  these  two  well  -  grown 
women — each  felt  an  instinctive  dislike  to  the  other.  It  manifested 
itself,  however,  in  different  ways. 

Marie  felt  at  once  oppressed  and  ill  at  ease.  She  hung  her  head 
and  became  self-conscious  and  awkward,  standing  there  under  the 
gaze  of  those  brilliant  eyes,  and  she  longed  to  go  back  to  the  shop. 

Madame  Carouge  forced  a  smile,  and  strove  to  be  extra  gracious. 

"I  hope  you  like  Berne,  mademoiselle,  and  that  you  wish  to  re- 
main here.     It  is  a  charming  town,  is  it  not?" 

Her  courteous  yet  patronizing  tone  made  Marie  feel  very  far  off 
indeed  from  her  questioner. 

"Yes,  madame,  it  is  a  very  beautiful  town." 

Madame  Carouge  smiled  again.  She  saw  that  the  girl  was  not 
fascinated  by  her,  and  that  it  was  necessary  to  be  friendly  with  her. 

"Dear  Madame  Bobineau,"  she  said,  "we  must  all  try  to  make 
Berne  as  pleasant  as  possible  to  your  little  cousin.  Will  jou  bring 
her  to  see  me  to-morrow  evening  —  there  will  be  only  a  few  old 
friends.  I  hope  mademoiselle  will  give  me  the  pleasure  of  includ- 
ing her  among  them." 

It  was  so  pleasantly  said,  in  that  soft,  mellow  voice,  that  Marie 
melted. 

"  Thank  you,  madame,  you  are  very  kind;"  then  she  remembered 
that  she  had  only  the  brown  linen  gown  she  had  worn  yesterday. 
She  looked  helplessly  at  Madame  Bobineau;  the  old  woman  was 
looking  inquisitively  at  Madame  Carouge  ;  she  had  no  belief  in 
this  sudden  kindness  to  Marie.  She  was  puzzled  and  taken  by 
surprise;  but  if  the  widow  had  asked  her  just  then  to  go  up  in  a 
balloon,  she  would  have  consented. 

"Madame  is  indeed  kind  —  kindness  itself.  You  must  excuse 
Marie,  madame.  She  is  thinking  about  her  dress,  I  fancy.  You 
had  better  go  back  to  the  shop,  child,"  she  said  to  Marie.  "  I  know 
madame  will  excuse  you." 

Madame  Carouge  held  out  her  hand.  "I  will  say  aurevoir, 
mademoiselle,  till  to-morrow.  We  will  say  eight  o'clock,  if  you 
please." 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE,  105 

Marie  put  her  cold  hand  into  the  widow's  elegantly  gloved  one, 
and  disappeared  through  the  curtained  entrance  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

Madame  Bobincau  was  bursting  with  curiosity,  but  her  visitor 
left  off  smiling.     Her  beautiful  eyes  were  terribly  angry  as  they . 
looked  straight  at  the  old  woman.      Madame  Bobineau  actually 
crouched  under  this  mute  rebuke,  and  sat  huddled  in  her  chair. 

"  You  wished  to  give  me  a  surprise,  I  suppose.  You  must  know 
as  well  as  I,  Madame  Bobineau,  that  the  girl  is  very  handsome — 
that  she  is  not  fit  to  be  in  such  a  shop  as  yours  is  for  a  day.  What 
can  you  be  thinking  of?" 

Her  voice  was  no  longer  mellow ;  it  struck  sharp  and  ringing  on 
the  reddened  ears  of  her  companion.  The  old  woman  pressed  her 
dark,  skinny  hands  together. 

"What  can  I  do?"  she  said,  abjectly.  "What  can  a  poor  old 
woman  like  me  do?  How  can  I  help  the  child's  looks?  If  madame 
will  only  have  the  goodness  to  advise." 

"I  did  advise  j'ou,  and  instead  of  keeping  the  girl  quiet  and  out  of 
sight  till  I  had  found  a  husband  for  her,  you  have,  I  hear,  been  tak- 
ing her  into  public,  and  allowing  her  to  walk  about  with  young  men. 
Mon  Bieu,  Madame  Bobineau,  you  are  not  fit  to  guide  a  young  girl." 

It  was  surprising  to  see  how  her  beautiful  face  cleared  when  she 
had  poured  out  her  wrath  in  this  pelting  fashion;  she  had  somewhat 
got  rid  of,  in  words,  the  vexation  which  oppressed  her.  She  thought 
that  the  old  woman  deserved  to  suffer  for  her  ingratitude  to  her. 

Madame  Bobineau  pulled  out  a  snuffy  pocket-handkerchief  and 
hid  her  face  behind  it. 

"Oh!  is  it  not  too  hard,"  she  said,  "  that  gossips  should  tell  tales, 
and  try  to  rob  a  poor  old  woman  of  one  of  the  few  friends  she  pos- 
sesses? Indeed,  madame" — she  gave  a  sob — "I  thought  I  was  do- 
ing a  Christian  duty  in  giving  the  child  amusement  in  taking  her  to 
see  the  bears,  and  when  we  met  Monsieur  Engemann  I  pretended 
not  to  see  him,  and  turned  away  to  avoid  him.  How  could  he  or  I 
help  it,  madame,  when  that  little  forward  chit  asked  him  to  put  her 
in  front  that  she  might  see  better?" 

Madame  Carouge  sat  silent,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  whilo 
the  old  woman  kept  dabbing  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief. 

"If  she  is  so  forward,"  she  said  at  last,  very  gravely,  "I  am 
afraid  it  will  not  do  to  propose  her  to  Captain  Loigerot.  A  man 
of  his  years  will  require  very  circumspect  behavior  in  his  wife." 


100  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

"  Captain  Loigerot!  Do  you  consider  him  a  man  likely  to  mar- 
ry, my  dear  lady?  Ah,  what  a  charming  bonnet  you  have  on,  to  be 
sure !    No  need  to  ask  if  it  comes  from  Paris. " 

But  Madame  Carouge  would  not  unbend.  Her  voice  continued 
to  have  a  dry,  sarcastic  tone  in  it  to  which  her  listener  was  unaccus- 
tomed. 

"  Monsieur  Loigerot  has  asked  me  to  find  him  a  wife,  and  he  is 
certain  to  accept  the  person  I  propose  to  him.  Of  course,  if  you 
have  other  plans  for  the  girl — "  She  rose  from  her  seat  and  looked 
at  the  old  woman. 

Madame  Bobineau's  face  did  not  show  the  willingness  she  ex- 
pected. She  hesitated  ;  she  was  not  sure  that  she  was  willing. 
Captain  Loigerot's  money  paid  the  rent  of  her  house,  and  he  was 
always  satisfied.  If  he  took  Marie  away,  she  should  lose  him  as  a 
lodger,  and  she  should  have  to  pay  a  shop-girl.  On  the  other  hand, 
she  should  not  have  to  make  a  provision  for  Marie.  This  last  con- 
sideration had,  however,  little  weight.  Madame  Bobineau  could  no 
more  help  hoarding  than  she  could  help  breathing,  and  she  knew 
that  Marie  was  already  provided  for  by  the  savings  she  had  accu- 
mulated. Of  necessity  she  must  leave  those  savings  behind  her, 
but  she  would  not  yield  up  a  centime  of  them  towards  a  marriage- 
portion  ;  the  very  thought  made  her  hair  rise  on  her  forehead.  But 
it  was  urgent  not  to  offend  the  widow.  She  rose  when  Madame 
Carouge  did. 

"  Did  I  not  say  I  would  follow  your  advice,  my  dear,  kind  friend? 
If  you  will  only  have  the  goodness  to  sit  down  again,  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  think.  I  am  only  a  poor,  stupid  old  woman,  and  such  a 
grand  proposal  as  this  takes  my  wits  away. " 

"  No,  you  are  not  stujoid,  Madame  Bobineau,  and  you  must  see 
the  advantage  of  such  a  marriage  for  Marie.  Listen,"  she  went  on, 
impatiently.  "The  captain  has  a  house  and  a  field,  two  chestnut 
woods,  an  olive  grove,  and  he  has  money  enough  to  live  on  besides 
these  sources  of  income." 

Madame  Bobineau's  eyes  glittered,  and  she  licked  her  lips  in  a 
stealthy  fashion;  then  she  took  a  huge  pinch  of  snuff. 

"He  is  some  years  too  old  for  Marie,  is  he  not,  madame?"  she 
said. 

"Great  heavens!" — Madame  Carouge  tapped  the  floor  with  her 
foot — "if  people  suit  in  other  ways,  what  can  age  signify?  An  old 
husband  often  makes  a  girl  happier  than  a  young  one  does;  he  is 


AT  THE    RED   GLOVE.  107 

more  easily  satisfied.  But  I  forgot  myself  " — she  looked  fixedly  at 
Madame  Bobineaxi's  shifting,  bead-like  eyes— "  if  the  girl  is  forward, 
I  cannot  advise  IMonsieur  Loigerot  to  marry  her.  I  am  sorry,  for 
indeed  I  felt  I  was  doing  you  a  good  turn." 

Madame  Bobineau  shook  her  hands  in  desperation.  "  You  mis- 
took me,  madame,"  she  said;  "I  only  meant  that  the  girl  should 
have  waited  her  turn.  No,  indeed,  she  is  not  bold.  Did  I  not  tell 
you  she  refused  to  measure  those  gentlemen  for  the  size  of  their 
gloves.  No,  no ;  that  cannot  be  brought  against  her.  But,  madame, 
my  fear  is  that  a  gentleman  in  the  position  of  Captain  Loigerot  will 
require  a  marriage-portion. " 

The  widow  stood  thinking;  her  impatient  look  had  faded  into 
melancholy.  "I  will  see  about  that,"  she  said;  "I  will  talk  to  the 
captain  this  evening,  and  propose  the  matter  to  him.  I  can  then 
present  him  formally  to  you  and  to  Mademoiselle  Marie  to-morrow 
evening.  You  had  better  not  speak  to  the  girl  beforehand;  let  the 
captain  plead  for  himself."  She  smiled  faintly.  "  Now  I  wish  you 
good-day." 

"Yes,  madame." 

She  affected  not  to  see  Madame  Bobineau's  offered  hand.  "With  a 
graceful  nod,  she  gathered  her  lace  scarf  round  her,  and  walked 
down  the  dingy  passage  into  the  arcaded  street.  "  That  is  settled," 
she  said,  and  her  beautiful  face  looked  serene  again. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  widow's  proposal. 

Captain  Loigerot  had  felt  dull  when  he  waked  that  morning. 
There  was  a  weight  on  his  spirits,  and  he  soon  became  aware  that 
it  was  caused  by  the  remembrance  of  last  night's  indiscretion. 

"Why  in  Heaven's  name  did  I  go  and  chatter  to  Madame  Ca- 
rouge?  I  might  have  known  that  it  is  never  safe  to  venture  too  near 
the  edge  of  anything.  See,  friend  Achille,  what  foolhardiness  has 
led  you  into.  .  .  .That  widow's  eyes  blazed  up  like  a  torch,  and  then 
I  knew  that  I  looked  like  a  fool,  and  I  who  all  these  years  have  kept 
clear  of  any  quarrel.  Who  knows  what  she  may  not  say  to  Enge- 
mann?  I'll  swear  she  made  a  guess  at  the  truth.  A  woman  like 
that  is  the  devil." 


108  AT    THE    EED    GLOVE. 

He  went  every  morning  to  be  shaved  by  Monsieur  Lenoir;  usual- 
ly he  enjoyed  the  bright  talk  of  the  little  bird-like  hair-dresser,  who 
had  a  way  of  hopping  from  one  subject  to  another  in  a  brisk,  airy 
way  that  carried  out  the  likeness  his  face  suggested.  But  to-day 
Lenoir's  talk,  instead  of  weighing  so  lightly  that  Loigerot  had  for- 
gotten it  by  the  time  he  had  finished  his  cigar,  hung  upon  his  listen- 
er like  a  bag  of  heavy  stones  which  he  was  forced  to  carry  away 
with  him,  for  Lenoir  had  repeated  the  substance  of  his  morning  in- 
terview with  Madame  Carouge,  and  feeling  angry  at  the  balk  she 
had  administered  to  his  curiosity,  the  little  hair-dresser  described 
her  evident  vexation  with  much  exaggeration,  and  declared  that 
there  was  no  hope  that  she  would  forgive  Rudolf  Engemann. 

"Serve  him  right,  too.  I  always  said  that  he  had  no  serious  in- 
tentions; he  is  too  young,  and — and  uninformed  to  be  the  husband 
of  such  a  woman." 

And  the  captain  had  answered,  sighing,  "Yes,  yes,  there  is  no  one 
in  Berne  who  is  worthy  of  her;  but  I  hope  she  will  forgive  Enge- 
mann." 

Lenoir  stopped  in  the  act  of  stropping  the  razor  with  which  he 
had  been  shaving. 

"Ma  foi,  monsieur  " — he  drew  up  his  little  body — "  IMadame  Ca- 
rouge need  not  have  gone  far  to  find  a  suitable  husband;  but  for 
my  part  I  do  not  believe  she  had  any  attachment  to  this  silent  young 
giant.  Women  are  weak  enough  to  admire  carcass" — he  put  his 
head  on  one  side  and  stuck  out  his  peaked  chin.  "What  else,  I 
ask  you,  could  have  persuaded  a  comely  woman  like  Madame 
Riesen,  with  a  head  of  gray  hair  such  as  you  seldom  see,  to  take  up 
with  that  rawboned,  cadaverous,  bald-headed" — he  caught  sight  of 
Loigerot's  astonislied  face  and  checked  himself.  "  You  understand, 
monsieur,  I  speak  of  the  outside  only.  Monsieur  Riesen  is  my  very 
good  friend  and  customer — so  far,  at  least,  as  a  man  can  be  called  a 
customer  who  wears  a  mass  of  gray  stubble  which  he  calls  a  beard. 
Good  day,  monsieur." 

This  was  in  answer  to  the  captain's  farewell.  Loigerot  wanted 
to  get  awaj'^  from  the  splenetic  hair -dresser,  whom  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  consider  as  gay  as  a  butterfly,  but  who  was  to-day  as 
stinging  as  a  wasp. 

"  His  digestion  is  out  of  order;  there  is  perhaps  something  amis8 
with  the  weather,"  the  captain  said,  "and  it  disturbs  Lenoir  as  it 
disturbed  me." 


AT   THE   RED    GLOVE.  109 

After  breakfast  the  captain  took  a  long  walk,  his  usual  panacea 
when  anything  had  gone  amiss  with  him,  and  he  came  back  much 
more  cheerful  than  he  had  started.  He  kept  away  from  Berne  as 
long  as  he  could ;  he  did  not  want  to  see  Rudolf,  or  Madame  Bobi- 
neau,  or  even  Marie ;  any  one  of  the  three  would  remind  him  of  the 
vexation  that  might  still  be  reserved  for  him  in  the  shape  of  a  quar- 
rel between  the  widow  and  her  young  admirer  ;  he  felt,  too,  that 
Engemann  had  shown  unnecessary  attention  to  Marie,  for  Lenoir 
had  watched  the  young  couple,  and  had  dwelt  at  length  on  the  ani- 
mated nature  of  their  conversation. 

"Still,  that  might  not  have  been  Engemann's  fault,"  the  good- 
natured  man  thought.  "Marie,  I  believe,  is  always  animated.  I'll 
be  bound,  when  she  gets  at  her  ease,  she  can  be  as  frisky  as  a  young 
lamb." 

This  last  was  a  pleasanter  reflection,  and  it  helped  to  keep  up  his 
spirits  through  the  dinner  at  the  Beauregard  till  the  end  of  the  first 
course. 

As  Moritz  handed  him  a  dish  of  stewed  peaches,  he  whispered 
that  madame  wished  to  have  the  pleasure  of  a  few  minutes'  talk 
w^hen  monsieur  should  be  quite  disengaged.  Loigerot  lost  his  ap- 
petite at  once;  his  indiscretion  came  back  vividly,  and  he  felt  sure 
he  was  going  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  quarrel. 

"Women  are  the  devil,"  he  said  again,  "and  I  certainly  knew 
that  long  ago."  He  left  the  table  before  the  others,  and  hurried 
down-stairs. 

Madame  Carouge  received  him  very  graciously.  Then,  after  a 
few  words  of  course,  she  said,  "Monsieur" — she  gave  him  the  rare, 
sweet  smile  which  so  fascinated  Rudolf  Engemann — "some  time 
ago  you  honored  me  with  a  confidence.  You  said  if  I  could  find 
you  a  suitable  wife  you  would  like  to  marry. " 

"  Yes,  madame." 

But  though  Loigerot  spoke  politely,  there  was  no  alacrity  in  his 
tone.  Since  he  had  seen  Marie  the  idea  of  the  "suitable"  wife 
had  lost  its  interest  for  him,  had  become  a  something  for  which  he 
could  wait  another  year  or  so.  It  would  be  much  pleasanter  mean- 
while to  walk  and  talk  with  this  bright  girl  who  had  at  present 
eclipsed,  in  his  estimation,  the  prettiest  nurse-maids  on  the  Mlinster 
Platz. 

Madame  Carouge  saw  that  he  was  indifferent,  but  she  had  not 
time  to  indulge  in  questioning.     She  went  on,  calmly, 

5 


110  AT   TUE   KED   GLOVE. 

"I  have  not  forgotten  your  wish,  monsieur,  though  it  is  possible 
I  may  have  seemed  to  you  slow  and  neglectful." 

"Ah,  madame — " 

But  the  widow  went  on:  "I  rejoice  to  tell  you  I  have  found  some 
one  to  whom  I  think  only  one  objection  can  be  made;  she  has  no 
marriage-portion. " 

The  captain  was  a  liberal  soul;  he  had  not  expected  money  with 
a  wife ;  but  as  he  had  changed  his  mind  about  marriage,  this  objec- 
tion seemed  to  offer  him  deliverance  from  the  widow's  proposal. 

"Well,  madame  " — he  cleared  his  throat— "  it  is  desirable  that  she 
should  not  be  without  a  portion.  I  have  a  little  property,  it  is  true, 
and  I  hope  by  economy  to  increase  its  value;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  might  die  soon  after  marriage,  and  then  a  lady  who  has  been  used 
to  her  comforts,  and  so  on,  would  be  in  a  better  position  if  she  had 
also  some  money  of  her  own,  and — and  " — puffing  out  his  cheeks — 
"in  short,  she  might  have  more  than  herself  to  provide  for." 

Madame  Carouge  felt  mischievous;  she  had  studied  her  compan- 
ion carefully  during  all  these  months,  and  she  understood  his  weak 
points, 

"It  is  true,  monsieur.  I  fear  I  must  try  again.  Perhaps  I  was 
altogether  wrong  in  my  choice.  If  j^ou  had  passed  over  the  want 
of  a  marriage-portion,  you  might  have  objected  on  the  score  of  age. 
You  desired,  I  think,  a  lady  about  thirty-five ;  now,  I  fear  the  lady 
I  am  thinking  of  Avould  not  fit  that  age  by  seventeen  or  eighteen 
years." 

Loigerot  reddened,  and  stuffed  both  hands  into  his  pockets,  till  he 
looked  more  like  a  ball  than  ever. 

"Madame  " — he  bowed — "I — I  named  that  age  because  it  is  hard- 
ly possible  that  a  younger  woman  would  bring  herself  to  take  me 
as  a  husband;  but  it  is  the  limit;  I  will  not  marry  an  old  woman, 
madame.  Ciel!" — his  little  eyes  were  fierce  as  he  stared  at  the  wid- 
ow— "the  wife  you  suggest  to  me  must  be  more  than  fifty — " 

He  stopped — his  voice  had  been  thick  with  anger,  and  now  that 
he  had  blustered  it  out,  he  felt  conscious  that  this  was  not  quite  tho 
way  in  which  he  ought  to  speak  to  Madame  Carouge.  He  looked 
shamefacedly  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

The  widow  did  not  seem  affronted;  she  was  pressing  her  hand- 
kerchief against  her  lips;  but  she  took  it  away  and  answered,  pleas- 
antly: 

"  How  could  it  be  possible,  monsieur,  that  I  should  fall  into  such 


AT  THE    RED   GLOVE,  HI 

a  grievous  mistake  as  that?  You  married  to  an  old  woman!  3Ibn 
Dieu  !  that  would  be  a  catastrophe.  No,  no,  the  difference  of  age 
to  which  I  fear  you  may  object  is  the  other  way.  The  young  girl 
I  am  thinking  of  is  but  seventeen  or  eighteen ;  but  then,  as  she  has 
no  money,  she  would  not  suit.  But  it  is  no  matter;  it  was  a  silly 
fancy  of  mine;  only  I  thought  you  would  make  the  poor  child  so 
much  happier  than— than  Madame  Bobineau  does." 

The  widow  had  been  attentively  watching  the  captain's  face,  and 
the  change  in  it  as  she  ended  was  so  startling  that  once  more  she 
hastily  pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  lips  to  hide  a  smile.  His 
expression  had  changed  from  anger  to  perplexity,  but  as  she  fin- 
ished, a  sudden  look  of  delight  broadened  his  face,  his  eyes  closed 
tin  they  were  mere  slits,  and  every  hair  of  his  mustache  and  im- 
perial quivered. 

"Madame,  is  it  possible  that  you  are  speaking  of  Mademoiselle 
Marie?"  he  said,  stuttering  with  eager  haste  to  get  his  words  out. 
"  But  no;  I  cannot  flatter  myself  that  one  so  young,  so  beautiful — " 

The  look  of  intense  scorn  on  Madame  Carouge's  face  stopped  him. 

"Monsieur," she  said,  gravely,  "  Mademoiselle  Marie  is  not  beau- 
tiful, and  I  was  younger  than  she  is  when  I  married  your  friend 
Carouge." 

Loigerot  stared  at  her,  opened  -  mouthed  with  wonder.  Sitting 
erect  on  her  sofa,  she  looked,  he  thought,  like  a  queen  to  whom 
even  a  noble  might  rightly  offer  homage ;  then  he  thought  of  loud- 
voiced  Carouge,  with  his  red  nose  and  clumsy  figure — he  must  sure- 
ly have  been  thirty  years  olcler  than  his  beautiful  young  wife.  Loi- 
gerot had  been  puzzled  when  first  he  saw  his  friend's  widow,  and 
now  he  felt  inquisitive. 

"Pardon  me,  madame,  but  did  you  marry  Carouge  to  please  your- 
self?" 

"Certainly,  monsieur,"  she  said,  sharply;  "and  the  little  Marie 
will  marry  you  for  the  same  reason.  In  your  case,"  she  said,  with 
emphasis,  "  she  will  find  in  her  husband  not  only  an  indulgent  pro- 
tector who  will  give  her  liberty  and  luxury  to  which  she  is  not  ac- 
customed, but  she  will  also  gain  a  pleasant  and  affectionate  compan- 
ion. Bah!"  she  smiled  gayly  at  him — "have  no  fear,  monsieur,  the 
little  girl  will  adore  you  when  she  is  your  wife." 

The  captain  grew  red  under  his  bronze  skin,  his  little  eyes  shone 
with  excitement ;  he  licked  some  stray  hairs  off  his  lips,  and  rubbed 
his  hands  softly  together. 


112  AT  THE   BED   GLOVE. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  to  thank  you,  madame  " — he  put  one  hand 
on  his  broad  chest.  "But — but— will  you— may  I  ask  you  to  add 
to  your  goodness  by  taking  the  first  steps  in  this  matter!" 

Madame  Carougc  put  her  head  on  one  side,  and  looked  at  him 
curiously. 

"  I  thought,  monsieur,  you  said  you  were  not  now  in  a  huiTy  to 
marry." 

The  captain  laughed.  "Pai'don  me"  —  he  cleared  his  throat — 
"  that  was  with  regard  to  some  one  nearer  my  own  age.  I  am  not 
old,  madame;  I  am  not  fifty  j'et;  but  I  feel  that  I  cannot  be  too 
young  for  the  charming  bride  you  propose  to  me,  and  I  should  like 
to  lose  as  little  time  as  possible  in  making  her  my  wife." 

Madame  Carouge  leaned  back  and  laughed  heartily.  "  Bravo!  it 
is  delightful  to  see  so  ardent  a  lover."  Then  she  held  up  a  finger 
and  shook  her  head  reprovingly.  "  I  am  not  sure  that  you  have  not 
been  acting  for  yourself,  monsieur,  and  while  you  pretended  to  be 
guided  by  me,  you  have  actually  chosen  your  wife.  Well,  men  are 
born  deceivers,  you  know.  Now  listen,  for  Moritz  will  be  here  in 
a  moment:  I  propose  to  ask  Madame  Bobineau,  Mademoiselle  Ma- 
rie, and  a  few  other  friends  to  a  little  soiree  to-morrow  evening.  I 
hope  you  will  honor  me  with  your  presence  and  ingratiate  yourself 
with  the  young  lady.  If  she  suits  you,  I  will  tell  you  how  to  pro- 
ceed further." 

The  captain's  jocund  face  lengthened.  "To-morrow!  ah!"  he 
sighed.  "  I  have  promised  to  go  to  Bale  for  a  day  or  two  on  busi- 
ness connected  with  my  inheritance." 

Madame  Carouge  was  silent.  Presently  she  said :  "  I  am  super- 
stitious about  delays,  but  I  suppose  this  cannot  be  helped.  To-day 
is  Monday:  can  you  be  back  by  3'hursday  evening?" 

"  On  Thursday  I  am  at  j-our  service,  and  I  tender  you  my  thanks 
in  advance.  But  do  you  think  Madame  Bobineau  will  consent  to 
this  marriage?" 

He  looked  grave,  for  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  old  woman  might 
demur  to  the  double  loss  of  her  first-floor  lodger  and  her  shop-girl. 

"  You  had  better  leave  Madame  Bobineau  to  me,"  said  the  wid- 
ow, confidently.  "I  answer  for  her  consent;  my  only  doubt  was 
whether  you  would  condescend  to  marry  this  young,  portionless 
girl.     You  are  an  excellent  man.  Captain  Loigerot." 

He  looked  at  her  inquiringly;  he  did  not  feel  that  he  deserved 
praise,  and  he  began  to  think  he  had  been  very  impulsive,  but  the 


AT  TUE    KED    GLOVE,  113 

fascination  of  Madame  Carouge's  manner  had  carried  him  off  his 
feet.  "After  all,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  stood  reflecting,  "I  can- 
not be  held  bound  until  I  have  actually  proposed  for  the  girl." 

"Madame,"  he  said  aloud,  "I  return  you  my  most  devoted 
thanks"  —  he  took  the  hand  she  offered  and  brushed  it  with  his 
coarse  mustache.  "I  have  been  thinking,  however,  that  it  will  be 
better  to  say  nothing  to  Mademoiselle  Marie  herself  until  after  your 
soiree." 

The  widow  was  enchanted. 

"Quite  right,  monsieur:  you  are  as  wise  as  you  are  kind,  "she  said. 
"I  see  you  understand  the  feelings  of  a  shy  young  girl.  In  my 
opinion  a  formal  presentation  of  you  as  her  intended  husband  might 
only  flutter  and  alarm  the  little  Marie.  Let  her  become  accustomed 
to  you,  and  then  choose  your  own  time  for  speaking  of  the  marriage." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Marie's  new   gown. 


Before  Captain  Loigerot  left  Madame  Carouge  she  gave  him  a 
message  for  Madame  Bobineau,  infonning  her  that  the  soiree  to 
which  she  had  been  invited  was  deferred  until  Thursday  evening. 

This  was  a  relief  to  the  old  woman.  She  felt  that  Marie  must  be 
properly  dressed  for  such  a  great  event,  and  she  had  trembled  at  the 
prospect  of  having  to  buy  at  least  a  skirt  ready  made.  She  had  in- 
tended to  sally  forth  that  evening  to  a  cheap  drapery  shop  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  town,  so  as  to  make  as  economical  a  bargain  as 
possible.  Now  this  was  unnecessary.  She  possessed,  hoarded  away 
upstairs,  a  piece  of  soft  gray  cashmere  which  she  had  never  had 
courage  to  make  up  for  herself  till  she  had  become  too  old  to  wear 
so  light  a  color.  It  had  come  to  her  husband  in  the  way  of  busi- 
ness, and  he  had  given  it  to  her. 

She  had  scarcely  spoken  to  Marie  after  Madame  Carouge's  visit, 
and  the  girl  had  been  unusually  silent,  partly  from  a  shame-stricken 
consciousness  of  her  own  vehemence,  and  partly  because  she  wanted 
to  avoid  any  talk  about  the  beautiful  widow. 

At  supper-time,  however,  the  old  woman  praised  her  visitor,  and 
dwelt  much  on  her  condescension  in  including  Marie  in  the  invita- 
tion to  the  soiree. 


I 


114  AT  THE   KED    GLOVE. 

The  girl  was  silent  for  a  while  ;  she  did  not  want  to  provoke  a 
fresh  dispute.  At  last  she  said,  "  I  do  not  wish,  madame,  to  go  to 
this  party." 

Madame  Bobineau  looked  at  her  severely,  and  her  lips  parted ; 
then  she  checked  herself;  there  was  no  use  in  irritating  the  girl 
when  so  much  depended  on  her  docility.    She  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"You  are  thinking  of  your  dress,  child;  that  is  all  settled;  I  in- 
tend to  give  you  a  new  one." 

Marie's  eyes  brightened.  It  would  be  very  pleasant  to  have  a  nev/ 
gown,  she  thought,  and  she  felt  more  reconciled  to  the  idea  of  the 
party. 

"How  kind  you  are,  madame!  Thank  you  very  much."  She 
began  to  wonder  whether  Monsieur  Engemann  would  be  at  Madame 
Carouge's  soiree ;  she  hoped  he  would  not  be  there ;  she  could  not 
feel  at  ease  with  him,  after  all  Madame  Bobineau  had  said. 

As  she  left  the  house  that  evening  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  Red 
Glove  hanging  in  front  of  the  shop  looked  swollen  and  a  deeper  red 
than  usual;  she  almost  fancied  the  thumb  pointed  at  her,  and  she 
hurried  away  shivering. 

"What  a  goose  I  am!"  she  said. 

Next  morning  was  dull  and  cloudy.  There  was  no  use  in  going 
to  the  platform  beyond  her  lodging,  her  beloved  mountains  would  be 
invisible;  and  Marie  seated  herself  before  her  little  table  and  tried  to 
begin  a  letter  to  the  Superior  of  St.  Esprit.  She  was  determined  to 
leave  Berne,  but  she  would  not  do  anything  hasty  or  foolish — any- 
thing that  might  grieve  her  kind  friends  in  the  convent.  Her  plan 
was  to  tell  the  Superior  she  wished  to  return  to  her,  and  then  to 
submit  to  the  advice  she  might  receive.  But  when  she  had  written 
the  date  at  the  top  of  her  paper  she  put  down  her  pen,  and  a  warm 
blush  rose  in  her  face.  She  had  actually  not  been  a  week  in  Berne. 
She  had  not  given  four  whole  days'  trial  to  her  new  life,  and  already 
she  wanted  to  give  it  up.  She  had  reached  the  Red  Glove  on  Friday 
morning,  and  this  was  Tuesday. 

"I  am  only  a  great  baby."  She  tried  to  smile,  but  her  lips  quiv- 
ered so  that  she  felt  tears  were  not  far  off.  She  struggled  for  self- 
control.  "Yes,  I  am  silly.  Because  it  is  not  all  as  nice  as  I  expect 
at  once,  I  want  to  change  to  something  else." 

She  looked  round  her  room.  It  might  be  worse.  She  had  told 
Madame  Bobineau  about  the  ugly  cracks,  and  the  old  woman  had 
routed  out  some  odd  pieces  of  wall-paper,  and  had  given  them  to 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  115 

Marie,  with  a  jar  of  paste  and  a  brusb.  It  was  wonderful  to  sec  the 
effect  which  this  somewhat  party-colored  but  fresh-lookiug  decora- 
tion had  produced.     Marie  replaced  the  cork  in  her  little  ink-bottle. 

"  I  will  Vv-ait  a  v/hole  fortnight,  and  then  perhaps  I  shall  be  hap- 
pier.    It  is  kind  of  the  old  cousin  to  give  me  a  gown." 

Although  she  shrank  from  Madame  Carouge's  patronage,  Marie 
had  never  been  to  a  party,  and  she  felt  rather  excited  in  looking  for- 
w^ard  to  it,  and  it  would  be  very  pleasant  to  wear  the  new  gown. 

"I  hope  it  will  fit,"  she  said.     "I  wonder  how  it  will  get  made?" 

By  this  time  she  was  due  at  the  Red  Glove,  and  she  set  out  quick- 
ly on  her  way  thither.  As  she  drew  near  the  shop  she  saw  Captain 
Loigerot  issue  from  the  house ;  he  carried  a  bag.  Marie  checked  her 
pace,  but  the  captain  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  railway-station. 
There  was  no  fear  of  meeting  him,  so  she  went  on  again  quickly  to 
the  shop  entrance. 

As  she  reached  it  Monsieur  Engemann  came  out  of  the  house  door. 
He  stopped  and  held  out  his  hand,  and  Marie  placed  hers  in  it. 

"Good -morning,  mademoiselle;  I  hope  you  are  well,"  he  said, 
with  a  bright  smile  that  made  the  girl  feel  ashamed  of  her  angry 
doubts  respecting  him. 

She  returned  his  greeting,  but  she  was  not  at  ease ;  the  simple 
confidence  of  yesterday  had  gone  from  her  manner,  and  Engemann 
saw  that  her  eyes  looked  on  to  the  shop  as  if  she  were  anxious  to 
leave  him. 

"  She  is  late,  I  suppose,"  he  thought,  and  he  bowed  and  passed  on. 

Marie  was  not  late ;  she  was  thinking  of  Madame  Bobineau,  whom 
she  sometimes  found  in  the  shop  when  she  reached  it.  She  did  not 
want  to  open  the  day  with  a  quarrel,  and  she  felt  that  the  old  wom- 
an might  fancy  this  meeting  had  been  arranged.  She  was  relieved 
to  find  the  shop  empty.  Her  entrance,  however,  was  noticed.  The 
spider  was  on  guard. 

"Marie,  come  in  here,"  cried  Madame  Bobineau,  from  the  cur- 
tained door  of  her  room. 

Marie  went  in.  The  old  woman  pointed  to  a  roll  of  cachemire  on 
her  table. 

"What  do  you  say  to  that,  child?"  she  said.  Her  face  was  puck- 
ered with  excitement,  for  indeed  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  was  be- 
stowing on  Marie  a  gift  of  great  value. 

"  It  is  very  pretty,"  Marie  said. 

"It  is  lovely,  child;  it  is  for  you.     Madame  Carouge  has  sent  to 


IIG  AT  THE    RED   GLOVE. 

say  that  the  party  is  put  off  till  Thursday.  Can  you  make  yourself 
a  gown  of  that  stuff  by  Thursday  if  I  mind  the  shop  now  and  then, 
eh?" 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  The  girl's  eyes  glistened.  She  was  ready  to 
kiss  Madame  Bobincau,  but  the  old  woman  had  turned  away.  "It 
is  very  kind  of  you,  madame.  Oh  yes,  I  can  make  it.  I  made  this 
one."  Then  she  looked  grave.  "It  is  true  that  Sceur  Monique  cut 
it  and  fitted  it,  but  I  did  all  the  sewing."  Her  under  lip  dropped, 
she  felt  nervous  as  she  looked  at  the  pretty  stuff. 

The  old  woman  raised  her  eyebrows.  ' '  Those  sisters  only  turn 
out  machines.  Long  before  I  was  your  age,  Marie,  I  could  cut,  fit, 
and  sew  everj'thing  I  wore.  Why,  Bobineau  never  went  to  a  tailor 
after  he  married  me."  She  thought  a  minute.  "  Stand  still,  child, 
while  I  measure  your  skirt.  There,  that  will  do.  You  can  slip  off 
the  gown  presently,  and  I  will  measure  the  body— or,  stay,  I  will  do 
it  at  once,  and  then  it  will  be  done :  there  is  little  chance  of  a  cus- 
tomer so  early." 

Marie  took  off  her  gown,  and  stood  wondering  at  the  old  woman's 
rapid  dexterity.  It  seemed  to  her  that  in  less  than  half  the  time  that 
Sister  Monica  had  taken  to  cut  out  the  body  of  her  gown,  Madame 
Bobineau  had  got  both  body  and  skirt  ready  for  working  on. 

"Take  this  into  the  shop,"  she  said,  giving  the  body  to  Marie, 
with  needle  and  thread.  "You  can  tack  the  pieces  together,  ready 
for  fitting,  while  I  sew  at  the  skirt." 

Marie  went  back  to  the  shop  in  a  flutter  of  pleasure.  She  was  so 
surprised  she  could  hardly  believe  that  the  old  woman  had  been  in 
earnest,  and  she  felt  ashamed  as  she  touched  the  soft,  fine  stuff,  and 
again  admired  its  color.  Certainly  she  had  wronged  Madame  Bobi- 
neau ;  her  cousin  had  a  bad  temper,  but  she  must  be  very  generous. 

"Well,  I  Avonder  what  sort  of  a  temper  I  should  have  had  if  I 
had  not  had  the  example  of  good  and  gentle  people?  I  was  angry 
enough  yesterday." 

Marie  hung  her  head  penitently  over  her  work,  and  tacked  as  fast 
as  she  could.  For  the  time  the  delight  of  the  beautiful  new  gown 
had  effaced  her  meeting  with  Monsieur  Engemann. 

He  had  gone  on  to  the  Beauregard.  After  breakfast  he  strolled 
up  to  the  little  fountain  in  the  hall;  he  meant  to  have  a  chat  with 
Madame  Carouge.  Loigerot  was  away,  and  he  had  left  his  two  fel- 
low-clerks still  busy  at  breakfast.  There  was  no  fear  of  gossip  this 
morning.     But  when  Engemann  looked  in  at  the  glass-fronted  par- 


"stand  still,  child,  while  i  measure  youk  skirt.' 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  119 

lor,  there  was  only  Zizi  chirping  loudly.  Madame  Carouge  vras  not 
to  be  seen. 

Five  minutes  ago  the  young  man  had  not  been  quite  sure  that  he 
wished  to  see  the  widow.  Now  that  he  could  not  see  her  he  felt  a 
pang  of  regret.  All  at  once  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  been 
very  ungrateful  in  his  avoidance  of  her.  He  had  begun  it  from  a 
praiseworthy  motive,  but  yesterday  he  had  been  sensible  of  a  change 
in  his  feeling  towards  Madame  Carouge;  he  had  passed  the  turning 
leading  into  the  fern-shaded  space  beside  the  little  fountain  without 
any  glowing  wish  to  feast  his  eyes  on  the  beautiful  picture  her 
charms  used  to  offer  to  his  fascinated  gaze ;  the  spell  she  exercised 
over  him  had  seemed  broken.  To  -  day,  however,  he  reproached 
himself  for  his  indifference,  and  he  longed  to  see  her  again. 

"  She  knew  nothing  about  the  gossip,"  he  said.  "  She  must  have 
wondered  at  not  seeing  mc;  she  is  thinking  me  capricious  and  un- 
friendly; and  I  am  so.  "Well,  I  cannot  wait  to  see  her  now,  but  I 
will  make  up  for  it  this  evening. " 

And  then  as  he  went  on  to  the  bank  he  wondered  whether  Ma- 
dame Carouge  was  ill.  This  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  missed 
seeing  her  in  her  parlor.  AVhy  had  he  not  asked  Moritz?  He  had 
behaved  like  a  brute. 

The  truth  was  that  the  widow  had  heard  his  footstep— she  well 
knew  the  firm  tread — and  she  had  retreated.  She  had  not  quite 
determined  whether  she  would  ask  him  to  her  party,  and  she  was 
afraid  of  trusting  herself  with  him  till  she  had  finally  decided.  It 
might  cure  him  of  any  fancy  for  Madame  Bobineau's  cousin,  she 
thought,  if  he  understood  that  the  captain  meant  to  marry  her. 

The  sight  of  the  old  glover's  "little  cousin"  had  given  the  widow 
a  sharper  pang  than  she  chose  to  confess  to.  On  her  way  home  she 
had  told  herself  that  her  own  love  for  Rudolf  Engemann  made  her 
attach  undue  importance  to  the  little  anecdote  of  his  kindness  to 
Marie.  He  was  so  good  and  amiable  it  was  but  natural  he  should 
try  to  be  of  use  to  this  young  stranger. 

When  she  recalled  Marie's  shy  awkwardness  it  seemed  that  the 
best  cure  for  Engemann,  supposing  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  girl, 
would  be  found  in  seeing  Marie  beside  herself.  But  this  thought 
was  only  momentary.  Madame  Carouge  loved  Rudolf  too  dearly 
to  have  undue  confidence  in  her  power  of  pleasing  him.  Besides,  it 
was  possible — probable  even — that  this  country  girl  might  have  been 
fascinated  by  Engemann,  and  that  his  presence  might  interfere  with 


120  AT  THE    RED   GLOVE. 

Monsieur  Loigerot's  success  with  lier.  When  this  view  presented 
itself  to  Madame  Carouge  her  hesitation  about  asking  Rudolf  ended ; 
she  had  promised  to  help  the  captain,  and  she  had  no  right,  she  told 
herself,  to  do  anything  to  hinder  the  progress  of  his  wooing. 

Still  it  was  a  disappointment  not  to  ask  the  young  Swiss;  she 
knew  how  greatly  she  should  have  enjoyed  his  society;  but  she 
must  be  self-denying  for  Captain  Loigerot's  sake.  At  the  same  time 
it  must  be  confessed  that  she  had  invited  the  Riesens,  and  although 
she  snubbed  the  clockmaker,  she  dreaded  his  penetration.  It  would 
be  safer  not  to  expose  Monsieur  Engemann  to  the  risk  of  meeting 
Marie  under  his  eyes.  She  had  asked  the  ex-captain  to  keep  his 
own  invitation  a  secret.  She  wished,  she  said,  to  have  only  a 
small,  quiet  gathering,  and  there  were  just  a  few  acquaintances  who 
might  feel  themselves  aggrieved  by  being  left  out,  etc.,  etc.  Still, 
although  there  was  little  chance  that  Rudolf  Engemann  would  hear 
of  the  soiree,  she  preferred  to  avoid  him  till  it  was  over.  But  she 
felt  sore  and  disappointed  at  having  to  do  this,  and  it  added  to  the 
jealousy  she  already  felt  about  Marie.  She  had  contradicted  the 
captain's  assertion,  but  Madame  Carouge  owned  frankly  to  herself 
that  the  girl  was  handsome. 

"She  might  even  look  beautiful  if  she  were  properly  dressed," 
she  said.  "  When  she  is  Madame  Loigerot  I  will  be  kind  to  her, 
and  teach  her  how  to  dress.     Yes,  I  mean  to  be  very  kind  to  her." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  SOIKEE. 

Mad.vme  BoBiNEArr  had  said  to  her  cousin,  when  they  left  the 
Red  Glove,  "Follow  me;  don't  look  about  you;  and  when  we  ar- 
rive, do  exactly  what  you  see  me  do." 

"Yes, "Marie  said;  but  when  she  reached  the  Hotel  Beauregard 
she  could  not  help  looking  about  her. 

The  old  woman  went  on  quickly;  she  did  not  see  the  admiring 
glances  which  Moritz  and  a  gentleman  who  was  coming  down-stairs 
bestowed  on  Marie,  as  the  girl  lingered  for  a  moment  to  look  at  the 
fern-shaded  fountain. 

"Up-stairs,  ladies,  if  you  please,"  said  the  waiter. 

Moritz  went  on  in  front,  and  when  they  reached  the  great  landing 


AT   TUE    RED    GLOVE.  121 

he  opened  a  door  opposite  the  dining-room,  and  ushered  them  into 
a  pretty  sitting-room  lighted  up  with  wax-candles ;  there  were  bou- 
quets of  flowers  on  the  tables,  and  on  a  dumb-waiter  in  one  corner 
there  were  plates  of  pretty  little  cakes,  some  iced  with  chocolate  and 
some  frosted  with  colored  sugar. 

Madame  Carouge  was  alone.  She  had  told  Madame  Bobineau  to 
come  early,  and  now  she  rose  from  a  sofa  and  came  forward  with 
graceful  dignity,  her  rich  black  silk  skirt  trailing  behind  her.  While 
she  stood  shaking  hands  with  Madame  Bobineau  and  receiving  the 
old  woman's  flow  of  compliments,  Marie  was  gazing  at  her  with  de- 
light ;  she  had  never  even  dreamed  of  beauty  like  this. 

Madame  Carouge's  dress  was  simple  enough ;  but  to-night,  for  the 
first  time  since  her  husband's  death,  she  had  put  on  some  of  the  or- 
naments he  had  lavished  on  her;  she  had  chosen  the  most  simple 
among  them— a  necklace  and  bracelets  of  plain  golden  scales  lapped 
one  over  the  other  like  the  scales  of  a  serpent,  and  sending  out,  as 
she  moved,  tongues  of  brilliant  light.  There  was  such  a  supple 
grace  in  this  beautiful  woman's  movements,  in  the  curve  of  her  neck 
as  she  turned  her  head  to  welcome  Marie,  that  the  girl  felt  subju- 
gated. It  seemed  to  her  that  velvet  could  not  be  richer  than  the  ex- 
quisite glow  on  the  widow's  cheeks;  and  how  wondrously  lustrous 
were  the  eyes  bent  smilingly  on  her  own ! 

In  truth,  Madame  Carouge's  vivid  beauty  showed  like  some  rich 
jewel  in  the  dusky  setting  of  her  dark  hair  and  sombre  dress ;  not  a 
mere  blaze  of  splendor,  but  a  living,  glowing  radiance. 

If  Madame  Bobineau  had  watched  the  two  women  gazing  into  each 
other's  eyes,  she  would  have  noted  that  both  expressed  the  same 
feeling.  Marie  had  followed  her  cousin's  example,  and  had  put  her 
hat  and  her  white  shawl — the  only  bit  of  finery  she  possessed — on 
the  table  outside.  And  she  also  was  a  striking  figure  in  her  sim- 
ple pale  gown,  relieved  by  lace  frilling  round  her  ivory  throat  and 
wrists. 

Madame  Carouge  admired  the  firm  round  throat,  and  then  her 
eyes  travelled  over  the  pure,  serene  face,  the  limpid  gray  ej^es,  the 
creamy  white  of  the  temples,  from  which  the  soft  brown  hair  was 
gathered  in  careless  waves  to  a  little  knot  at  the  back  of  the  head. 
Madame  Carouge  sighed.  She  knew  that  Marie's  tresses  could  nev- 
er compare  with  her  own  magnificent  wealth  of  dark  hair,  but  there 
■was  an  unstudied  simplicity  and  freshness  about  the  young  girl 
which  she  envied. 


123  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

She  gave  Madame  Bobineau  a  charming  smile  as  she  placed  Marie 
on  a  sofa  beside  her  old  cousin. 

"I  congratulate  you,"  she  said,  lowering  her  mellow  voice. 
"She  is  perfectly  dressed;  that  soft  clinging  stuff  suits  her  exact- 
ly." Then  going  up  to  one  of  the  nosegays,  she  pulled  from  it  a 
small  bunch  of  flesh-colored  carnations.  "Will  you  permit  me. 
Mademoiselle  Marie?"  she  said.  "  If  only  I  had  a  pin.  Ah!  thank 
you,  Madame  Bobineau." 

And  just  as  the  opening  door  gave  warning  of  fresh  guests,  she 
had  fastened  the  knot  of  carnations  against  Marie's  white  throat, 
giving  her  dress  the  tinge  of  color  it  needed. 

Moritz  announced  Monsieur  and  Madame  Riesen,  but  his  voice 
was  drowned  in  the  gushing  greeting  with  which  that  lady  entered; 
it  so  matched  with  her  appearance  that  it  seemed  as  if  she  must 
have  begun  her  speech  before  the  door  opened.  And  when  she  had 
at  last  yielded  up  Madame  Carouge  to  her  husljand,  she  hurried  over 
her  greeting  to  Madame  Bobineau  that  she  might  get  at  Marie. 

"I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  my  dear  young  lady."  She  kept  the 
girl's  hand  in  hers,  beaming  at  her  so  approvingly  that  Marie's  eyes 
drooped  under  such  open  admiration.  "  Well,  well,  you  are  indeed 
a  salve  for  sore  eyes— as  fresh  as  a  fountain  in  full  play.  Riesen, 
look  here."  She  turned,  and  seeing  her  husband  still  bending  over 
Madame  Carouge's  hand,  she  made  a  grimace,  and  spoke  in  a  loud- 
er voice.  "  It  is  not  often,  is  it,  Madame  Bobineau,  that  one  sees — 
what  shall  I  say?  —  two  planets  shining  at  once  in  Berne?  You 
know,  my  dear  mademoiselle,  we  Swiss  are  not  famed  for  our 
beauty.     Are  we,  Madame  Bobineau?" 

She  glanced  down  as  she  made  this  remark,  and  thereby  became 
aware  that  she  was  not  giving  universal  satisfaction.  Madame  Bo- 
bineau's  head  had  sunk  into  her  neck  as  a  turtle's  sinks  into  its  shell. 
And  indeed,  except  that  her  face  was  flat  instead  of  pointed,  she  did 
not  look  at  that  moment  unlike  a  turtle;  her  small,  glittering  eyes 
were  quite  expressionless,  and  her  dark  skin  looked  tough  and 
creased,  as  she  stared  stolidly  before  her,  quite  deaf  to  her  friend's 
appeal. 

A  gleam  of  malice  shot  into  Madame  Riesen's  pale  eyes.  She  bent 
down  and  whispered  to  Marie,  so  loudly,  however,  that  the  mistress 
of  the  Red  Glove  could  not  escape  hearing. 

"  Never  mind,  my  dear  child;  your  cousin  knows  you  are  a  beau- 
ty as  well  as  I  do,  but  she  is  afraid  I  shall  turn  your  head,  and  " 


AT   TUE    RED    GLOVE.  123 

— she  nodded  her  head  significantly — "she  is  afraid  the  empress 
over  the  way  may  dislike  that  any  one  except  herself  should  be  flat- 
tered. But  I  for  one  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  Madame  Carouge 
to  suppose  she  could  be  so  vain." 

She  had  left  off  whispering,  and  there  had  come  a  pause  in  her 
husband's  talk  with  the  widow. 

"Chut!"  said  Madame  Bobineau.  Then,  in  a  tone  of  fawning 
politeness,  "Will  you  come  and  sit  beside  me,  madame?"  and  she 
made  room  at  the  end  of  the  sofa. 

Madame  Riesen's  last  sentence  had  reached  the  quick  cars  of  her 
hostess  and  Riesen.  He  was  gazing  in  rapt  admiration  into  Madame 
Carouge's  beautiful  eyes,  and  he  saw  that  she  had  heard. 

"Shall  we  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Monsieur  Engemann  this 
evening,  madame?" he  said,  quickly. 

"  Well,  no,  I  think  not."  Madame  Carouge  did  not  know  what  to 
say  in  answer  to  the  question  which  she  saw  in  the  clockmaker's 
face.  She  knew  so  well  that  he  would  not  shrink  from  uttering  it 
that  she  said,  as  if  in  answer:  "  I  am  expecting  Captain  Loigerot. 
By-the-bye,  I  want  to  give  you  a  hint  respecting  him — in  perfect 
confidence,  you  understand." 

The  last  words  were  heard  by  Madame  Riesen.  She  was  in  the 
act  of  making  Madame  Bobineau  laugh  by  a  mischievous  imitation 
of  Lenoir  the  hair-dresser,  but  she  stopped  at  this. 

"  I  am,  perhaps,  a  little  in  the  way,"  she  said  to  the  old  woman, 
and  her  glance  pointed  her  words.  ' '  Confess,  now,  do  you  not  think 
Lorenz  and  our  hostess  would  make  a  fine  couple?"  She  blinked 
her  eyes  to  get  a  tear  into  them.     ' '  I  feel  I  am  the  only  obstacle. " 

Madame  Bobineau  smiled  grimly.  But  such  talk  as  this  in  Ma- 
rie's presence  irritated  her  more  than  the  flattery  which  had  gone 
before  it. 

"You  forget  Monsieur  Engemann."  She  knew  that  the  jealous 
wife  wanted  to  be  told  that  she  was  unreasonable,  but  she  was  not 
inclined  to  indulge  her.  "I  fancy  matters  are  arranged  between 
him  and  Madame  Carouge. " 

The  clockmaker's  wife  had  recovered  herself.  The  old  woman's 
cynical  manner  had  had  the  bracing  effect  such  a  manner  is  apt  to 
have  on  excitable  natures,  and  while  wishing  she  had  been  less  ex- 
pansive, she  registered  a  grudge  to  be  paid  to  Madame  Bobineau 
with  interest  on  the  first  opportunity. 

"  Rudolf  Engemann  is  a  charming  fellow  indeed,"  she  said,  "but 


124  AT  TDE   RED   GLOVE. 

between  ourselves  " — slie  put  lier  hand  beside  her  mouth,  speaking 
quite  loudly  enough  for  Marie  to  hear  if  she  chose — "  I  should  have 
thought  him  suited  for  something  j'ounger  " — here  she  nudged  Ma- 
dame Bobineau  with  her  sharp  elbow — "not  so  far  off  neither." 

But  Madame  Riesen  was  not  a  match  for  the  mistress  of  the  Red 
Glove.  She  was  less  clever,  and  she  had  more  feeling,  and  her  af- 
fection for  her  husband  offered  a  vulnerable  spot  which  her  cynical 
old  gossip  was  aware  of. 

Madame  Bobineau  opened  her  little  eyes  to  their  most  surprised 
extent. 

"Dear  me!  I  thought  equality  of  age  in  marriage  was  quite  an 
old-fashioned  idea.  It  seems  to  me  that  suitability  of  temper  is  far 
more  necessary."  Madame  Riesen  winced,  but  the  old  woman  went 
on  steadily.  "Believe  me,  if  a  young  man  marries  an  inexperi- 
enced girl" — she  looked  at  Marie — "they  are  sure  to  quarrel.  He 
has  always  been  accustomed  to  have  ever3ihing  done  for  him,  and 
he  looks  for  it;  she  is  in  the  same  case.  There  should  be  experi- 
ence on  one  side  or  the  other." 

Madame  Riesen  looked  at  her  admiringly.  "You  speak  like  a 
book,"  she  said.  "  I  dare  say  you  are  right,  but  in  my  opinion  the 
experience  should  be  on  the  side  of  the  husband." 

"Chut!"  said  Madame  Bobineau  again,  for  Madame  Riesen  had 
gone  on  talking,  heedless  of  the  opening  door;  and  the  next  mo- 
ment the  short,  round  figure  of  Captain  Loigerot  rolled  into  the 
room,  and  stood  bowing  before  Madame  Carouge  as  if  she  were  a 
queen. 

"Permit  me,  monsieur,"  she  said,  rising.  "I  wish  to  present 
you  to  some  old  friends,  and  also  to  a  new  one." 

The  captain's  round  face  expressed  unlimited  satisfaction  as  he 
followed  his  hostess  to  the  opposite  sofa.  She  wished  to  take  him 
at  once  to  Marie,  but  Madame  Riesen  stopped  their  progress. 

"Ah,  Monsieur  Loigerot,"  she  said,  "you  have  no  eyes  for  me, 
and  indeed  who  can  wonder?  Gray  hairs  are  not  attractive — are 
they,  Madame  Bobineau  ?"  She  nudged  her  neighbor,  and  then 
glancing  at  her  flat  brown  head,  she  slightly  shrugged  her  shoul- 
ders.    "Eh, mon  Bleu,  you  have  no  gi'ay  hair;  I  had  forgotten." 

Captain  Loigerot  might  have  repeated  the  hair-dresser's  compli- 
ment, and  this  would  have  secured  Madame  Riesen's  alliance;  but 
it  must  be  owned  that  the  brave  ex-soldier  was  in  such  trepidation 
at  the  idea  of  approaching  Marie  under  these  changed  circumstances 


AT   TUE    RED   GLOVE.  125 

that  the  room  and  Madame  Riosen  seemed  to  be  going  round,  and 
he  had  to  press  his  feet  firmly  into  the  carpet  to  convince  himself 
that  he  stood  upright  on  his  legs. 

Madame  Bobineau  rose  and  made  him  a  deep  courtesy,  and  this 
was  really  helpful ;  her  homage  restored  his  self  -  respect,  and  the 
very  action  of  shaking  hands  recalled  to  him  Madame  Carouge's  as- 
surance that  he  was  doing  a  kindness  to  the  girl  in  becoming  her 
husband.  He  had  not  looked  at  her  till  now,  and  he  was  complete- 
ly dazzled  by  her  beauty;  he  had  only  seen  her  under  the  shadow 
of  her  straw  hat,  and  he  was  not  prepared  for  the  distinction  which 
her  well-placed  head  and  her  pale  ivory  skin  lent  to  the  girl's  other 
attractions.  The  captain  grew  red,  while  he  bowed  as  low  as  he 
had  just  now  bowed  to  Madame  Carouge. 

"  Mademoiselle  Peyrolles,"  said  the  widow,  "  will  you  permit  me 
to  present  to  you  my  distinguished  friend.  Captain  Loigerot,  who 
wishes  to  make  your  acquaintance?" 

Marie  took  courage  at  this.  She  looked  up  and  smiled,  first  at 
the  widow,  and  then  at  the  captain. 

"I" — the  captain  was  purple  under  his  bronze  skin — "I  have  al- 
ready had  the  pleasure  of  becoming  acquainted  with  Mademoiselle 
Marie."    He  puffed  out  each  word  more  than  usual. 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

Marie  did  not  find  anything  else  to  say.  Madame  Carouge's  fixed 
gaze  made  her  feel  awkward  and  self-conscious.  She  was  more 
shy  of  her  hostess  than  she  was  of  the  captain.  To  her  relief,  after 
saying  a  few  more  words  to  Monsieur  Loigerot,  Madame  Carouge 
moved  on  and  addressed  herself  to  Madame  Riesen. 

"Dear  madame,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  show  you  my  new  photo- 
graph.    You  must  give  me  your  opinion  about  it." 

Then  she  moved  gracefully  across  the  room,  so  that  Madame  Rie- 
sen was  obliged  to  rise  and  follow  her. 

The  mistress  of  the  Red  Glove  smiled  approvingly.  She  watched 
the  two  ladies  without  turning  her  head,  and  when  she  saw  Riesen 
go  up  and  join  them  in  discussing  the  merits  of  the  new  portrait, 
she  slid  herself  quietly  into  the  place  just  occupied  by  the  clock- 
maker's  wife. 

She  noticed  that  Marie  and  the  captain  both  seemed  shy  of  each 
other,  and  it  seemed  to  her  they  would  get  on  better  left  to  them- 
selves. It  is  sometimes  a  fact  that  the  motive  power  of  serving 
one's  own  interest  quickens  perception. 


126  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

"You  must  be  tired,  monsieur,"  she  said,  in  the  humble  tones  she 
always  used  to  her  first-floor  lodger.  "Will  you  not  take  this  place 
on  the  sofa?"  she  pointed  to  the  space  between  herself  and  Marie. 

"I  return  you  many  thanks,  madame."  The  captain  made  two 
more  bows,  one  to  Madame  Bobineau  and  one  to  Marie,  giving  them 
each  a  full  view  of  his  pink  crown,  and  increasing  the  color  in  his 
face  by  the  exertion. 

As  soon  as  he  was  seated  he  turned  to  Marie.  He  felt  in  a  meas- 
ure screened  from  observation,  now  that  his  back  was  towards  the 
room.  This  surrender  of  her  scat  had  recalled  to  him  Madame  Ca- 
rouge's  hint  that  he  need  not  look  for  any  opposition  on  the  part  of 
Madame  Bobineau. 

He  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  but  as  he  looked  at  3Iarie  he  became 
aware  that  he  felt  timid  and  unhopeful;  the  undertaking  was  very 
difficult. 

"Courage,  Achille!"  he  said.  "Why  should  a  -woman  be  more 
difficult  to  win  than  a  town!  I  never  felt  like  this  when  I  led  a 
storming  party." 

At  that  moment  the  refrain  of  a  song  in  which  he  had  often 
joined  at  the  caserne  flitted  through  his  brain  and  gave  him  courage : 

"Vive  le  viu,  I'amour,  et  le  tabac! 
C'est  le  refrain  du  bivouac,  le  refraiu  du  bivouac." 

It  seemed  to  assure  him  that  soldiers  are  famed  for  success  in  love, 
and  that  love-making  was  no  more  difficult  than  smoking  or  drink- 
ing was.     Courage,  then ;  at  least  he  would  not  be  fainthearted. 

"Is  mademoiselle — fond — of  flowers?"  He  glanced  at  the  knot 
of  carnations  at  her  throat. 

"Yes,  I  am  very  fond  of  flowers,  monsieur." 

And  as  she  loved  flowers  dearly,  Marie's  eyes  lighted  up  -with  en- 
thusiasm as  she  looked  at  them. 

The  captain  pulled  at  his  imperial.  "Mademoiselle  will  then 
allow  me  to  bring  her  some  flowers?"  he  said. 

A  smile  had  begun  to  curve  Marie's  lips.  She  was  wondering 
why  the  captain  puffed  out  his  words  so  much  more  than  he  did  at 
their  last  meeting;  then  she  reflected  that  she  had  never  been  to  a 
party  before,  and  that  perhaps  this  was  the  way  in  which  people 
talked  at  parties.  She  did  not  like  it;  it  made  her  feel  strange  and 
nervous;  but  when  the  captain  offered  to  bring  her  some,  her  eyes 
again  shone  with  pleasure. 


I 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  127 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  monsieur,"  she  said;  "j'ou  are  indeed  kind." 

The  captain  was  delighted;  he  felt  that  this  was  progress.  lie 
half  closed  his  eyes  with  ineffable  satisfaction,  and  sat  blinking  at 
Marie. 

"Mademoiselle  would  like  to  have  a  garden  of  her  own?"  he  said, 
presently.  After  all,  he  began  to  see  that  if  he  could  make  the  girl's 
life  very  pleasant,  she  might  be  brought  to  prefer  him  to  the  glove 
shop,  or  even  to  a  younger  man. 

Marie  smiled  gayly  and  shook  her  head.  "Yes,  monsieur,  that 
would  be  a  castle  in  Spain." 

She  showed  her  pretty  teeth  as  she  laughed,  and  the  captain 
longed  to  kiss  her.  He  liked  every  one  to  be  merry;  what  a  jocund 
life  he  should  lead  with  this  lively  young  creature! 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  mademoiselle  should  not  possess  a  gar- 
den," he  said,  pompously. 

"No  " — 3Iarie  shook  her  head — "I  shall  never  have  one.  I  think 
it  would  be  like  heaven  to  have  a  garden ;"  and  she  gazed  pensively 
at  the  nosegay  on  the  table  near  her. 

Riesen  had  been  watching  them  for  the  last  five  minutes.  "  I  see 
that  Mademoiselle  Marie  shakes  her  head  at  our  friend,"  he  said. 
"I  fear  that  does  not  promise  well  for  his  success.  What  do  you 
say,  ladies?" 

His  wife's  presence  had  for  Riesen  effectually  destroyed  the  pleas- 
ure of  conversation  with  Madame  Carouge.  He  considered  himself 
an  excellent  husband,  but  he  also  considered  himself  necessary  to 
the  handsome  young  widow  ;  he  was  her  mentor,  the  pilot  who 
helped  her  to  steer  her  course  safely  among  the  rocks  and  quick- 
sands of  flirtations  and  greedy  suitors;  yet  he  knew,  although  he 
turned  his  ej'es  away  from  the  knowledge,  that  the  pleasure  of  his 
talks  with  Madame  Carouge  was  much  like  that  of  a  school-boy  in 
a  forbidden  apple-tree;  certainly  this  evening  all  the  special  charm 
that  characterized  such  talks  was  absent. 

"  Is  it  not  so,  ladies?"  he  repeated,  for  his  hostess  did  not  answer, 
and  his  wife  was  scrutinizing  the  couple  on  the  sofa  out  of  her  pale 
gray  eyes. 

At  this  fresh  appeal  Madame  Carouge  said,  with  a  smile  that  he 
felt  to  be  sarcastic, 

"Monsieur  Loigerot  is  both  discreet  and  judicious,  monsieur;  he 
will  not  say  anything  that  Mademoiselle  Marie  can  refuse  this  even- 
ing.    I  am  sure  j'ou  wish  him  success." 


128  AT  THE   RED    GLOVE. 

She  raised  lier  eyes  to  his,  and  Riesen  was  conquered. 

"I  -wish  whatever  you  wish."  He  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper, 
but  still  his  wife  heard  him. 

"The  captain  is  surely  too  old,  madame,"  she  said;  "he  might 
easily  be  that  child's  father.  One  or  other  must  be  unhappy  in 
such  a  marriage  as  that  will  be. " 

Riesen  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  moved  away.  He  was  dis- 
gusted at  his  wife's  want  of  tact,  but  he  never  rebuked  her  in  public. 

Madame  Carouge,  on  the  contrary,  smiled  caressingly  at  her  of- 
fending guest,  and  patted  her  arm. 

' '  You  are  so  romantic,  dear  Madame  Riesen.  You  must  please 
remember  that  all  the  world  are  not  so  fortunate  as  you  were.  We 
cannot  all  make  love  marriages  on  both  sides."  Her  listener  shrank 
away  a  little.  "Believe  me,  the  captain  is  not  old,  and  he  is  very 
fresh  for  his  age.  Moreover,  you  have  only  to  look  at  him  to  see 
that  he  is  in  love;  it  is  a  great  chance  for  a  poor  little  shop-girl  to 
attract  a  man  in  his  position.     See  how  pleased  she  looks." 

As  she  met  Madame  Riesen's  eyes,  the  triumph  which  the  cap- 
tain's success  had  brought  into  her  own  faded.  The  clockmaker's 
wife  had  also  a  triumphant  expression;  but  there  was  malice  in  it, 
and  the  malice  of  a  feeble  nature  is  always  alarming. 

"  To  look  at  her" — Madame  Riesen  gave  a  careless  glance  across 
the  room — "you  would  never  imagine  her  to  be  a  shop-girl,  would 
you?  She  is  the  finest  girl  I  have  seen  for  many  a  day — so  fresh 
and  youthful.  And  what  a  white  skin  she  has!" — fixing  her  eyes 
on  madame's  brown  throat.  "How  the  men  must  admire  it!  They 
do,  and  I  hear  she  is  considered  very  handsome.  Indeed,  between 
ourselves,  I  have  reason  to  know  that  she  has  a  younger  and  far 
more  suitable  admirer  than  our  friend  the  captain." 

She  looked  at  Madame  Carouge,  but  the  widow's  face  was  expres- 
sionless; that  look  of  malice  had  put  her  on  her  guard. 

"Really, "she  said,  "you  interest  me;  but  is  he  as  well  able  to 
keep  a  wife  as  the  captain  is?" 

"  I  do  not  know" — Madame  Riesen  spoke  crossly.  "As  you 
say,  I  am  romantic,  my  dear  friend.  I  think  of  love  before  money 
in  a  marriage." 

"Then  we  are  agreed,"  said  Madame  Carouge,  with  her  fascinat- 
ing smile,  and  she  moved  nearer  to  where  Marie  was  sitting.  She 
felt  curious  to  know  what  the  captain  had  been  saying  to  bring  that 
warm  glow  of  pleasure  to  the  girl's  cheek. 


AT  THE    RED   GLOVE.  129 

Loigerot  could  hardly  take  his  eyes  off  Marie,  the  delicate  flush 
added  so  much  in  his  eyes  to  her  beauty,  but  he  felt  obliged  to  turn  ' 
at  last  to  Madame  Bobiueau. 

"  I  have  been  asking  mademoiselle  if  she  has  visited  the  Schiiuzli, 
madame,  and  she  says  No.  I  propose,  with  your  leave,  to  escort 
you  both  there  on  Sunday  evening." 

Madame  Bobineau  turned  away  from  Riesen,  who  was  offering 
her  a  glass  of  sirup  from  the  tray  which  Moritz  had  just  placed  on 
the  table. 

"  Monsieur  is  goodness  itself,"  she  said,  in  her  fawning  voice. 

"I  thank  you,  madame."  Loigerot  was  conscious  of  his  power 
over  Madame  Bobineau,  and  he  puffed  out  his  words  with  extra 
force.  "  Then  it  is  arranged  that  I  call  for  you  and  for  mademoi- 
selle on  Sunday  evening:  it  will  be  delightful." 

At  this,  Riesen,  who  had  stood  by  a  silent  listener  to  this  arrange- 
ment, turned  to  Madame  Carouge. 

"The  idea  of  pleasure  is  infectious,"  he  said,  with  a  fatherly 
glance  at  Marie.  "The  bright  anticipation  I  see  in  mademoiselle's 
eyes  makes  me  feel  that  we  too,  madame,  should  try  to  have  a  hap- 
py day  on  Sunday.     Shall  we  agree  to  go  to  Thun?" 

"By  all  means;"  and  Madame  Carouge  for  a  moment  looked  al- 
most as  young  and  gay  as  Marie  did. 

' '  It  gets  late,  Lorenz, "  said  Madame  Riesen ;  she  tapped  her  hus- 
band's arm  with  her  fan. 

"  Yes  indeed,  it  is  late,"  chimed  in  Madame  Bobineau.  "  Marie, 
it  is  time  to  say  good-night." 

While  they  made  their  adieux  the  captain  whispered  to  Madame 
Bobineau,  "  I  may  walk  home  with  you?"  and  the  old  woman  nod- 
ded. 

"  A  word  with  you,  monsieur,"  said  Madame  Carouge. 

But  the  gallant  captain  was  already  outside  the  door  fingering 
Marie's  shawl,  so  that  he  might  have  it  ready  to  put  it  over  her 
when  she  came  out  on  to  the  great  landing.  Having  done  this  to 
his  satisfaction,  he  rolled  back  into  the  room  and  caught  ]\Iadame 
Riesen  sniggering  at  a  joke  she  had  just  made  at  his  expense.  Ma- 
dame Carouge,  however,  came  forward  gracefully. 

"You  will  excuse  me,  my  kind  friend  " — he  was  almost  breath- 
less with  impatience — "the  ladies  await  me.  Good-night,  dear  ma- 
dame, and  thank  you  a  thousand  times  for  the  happiness  you  have 
given  me." 


130  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

She  held  out  her  hand,  and  the  captain  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"I  congratulate  j'ou,"  she  said.  "I  had  intended  to  give  you  a 
few  hints  as  to  the  conduct  of  tlie  affair,  but  it  seems  to  me  you  are 
quite  able  to  manage  for  yourself.     Au  revoir,  and  good  success." 

He  kissed  his  fingers  to  her,  and  then  nodding  to  the  Riesens,  he 
rejoined  Marie  and  Madame  Bobineau  in  such  a  state  of  excitement 
that  he  missed  his  footing  on  the  staircase,  and  but  for  Moritz's 
timely  aid  would  have  rolled  to  the  bottom. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 


So  far  Rudolf  Engemann's  female  acquaintances  in  Berne  had 
been  limited.  He  was  only  intimate  with  the  beautiful  widow,  and 
circumstances  had  brought  him  in  contact  with  Madame  Bobineau 
and  Madame  Riesen  and  one  or  two  others. 

It  is  true  that  the  heads  of  the  bank  in  which  he  was  a  clerk  had 
in  turn  asked  him  to  dine  witli  them  in  their  chateaux  some  way 
out  of  the  town,  but  the  young  fellow  felt  that  these  had  been  mere 
kindnesses  shown  to  him,  and  that  the  gulf  between  him  and  these 
wealthy  personages  was  too  wide  for  free  intercourse. 

Rudolf  was  not  ambitious,  and  he  did  not  care  to  strain  his 
ideas  so  as  to  force  sympathy  with  people  who  looked  at  life  from 
a  different  stand-point.  Perhaps  the  key  to  his  sudden  interest  in 
Marie  Pej'rolles,  apart  from  the  glamour  created  by  her  looks,  was 
the  fact  that  he  met  her  on  equal  ground.  She  was  a  shop-girl,  but 
then  nothing  about  her  recalled  any  faults  or  shortcomings  con- 
nected with  that  position.  She  was  as  modest  and  as  gentle,  Ru- 
dolf thought,  as  if  his  own  mother  had  reared  her,  and  this  was 
the  highest  praise  the  young  fellow  could  have  bestowed  on  any 
woman ;  but  the  thought  had  never  occurred  to  him  in  connection 
with  Madame  Carouge.  There  was  another  point  of  equality  with 
Marie:  she  had  no  fortune;  she  depended  on  her  own  exertions  for 
her  living.  Madame  Bobineau  had  taken  good  care  to  make  this 
known  to  every  one,  and  it  gave  Engemann  a  sense  of  sympathy 
which  he  could  not  feel  with  his  other  female  acquaintances.  These 
were  among  the  excuses  he  made  to  himself  on  the  morning  after 
the  party,  for  he  was  ashamed  of  his  keen  feeling  of  disappointment 


AT   THE    KED    GLOVE,  131 

when  he  looked  in  at  the  window  of  the  Red  Glove  and  saw  that 
the  shop  was  empty. 

It  was  doubtless  owing  to  this  paucity  of  female  friends  that  En- 
gemann  had  remained  ignorant  of  the  soiree  at  the  Hotel  Beaure- 
gard. He  had  looked  in  at  the  Red  Glove  shop  on  Wednesday,  but 
he  only  saw  Madame  Bobineau,  as  Marie  was  sewing  hard  at  her 
gown  in  the  room  behind  the  curtained  door. 

Last  night  when  he  came  out  from  dinner  he  saw  that  Madame 
Carouge  was  again  absent  from  her  little  room,  and  he  had  remarked 
that  Captain  Loigerot  had  a  flower  in  his  button-hole  and  was  sin- 
gularly silent.  He  had  also  remarked  that  Moritz  drove  the  dinner 
on  in  a  very  hurried  manner,  and  that  there  was  far  less  delay  than 
usual  between  the  courses. 

Just  beyond  the  hotel,  at  the  corner  of  the  street  opposite  the 
Kornmarkt,  was  a  flower  shop.  There  was  little  show  of  flowers 
in  the  broad  window,  a  plant  or  two,  some  dried  gi-asses,  and  two 
or  three  wreaths  of  immortelles,  but  even  a  stranger  like  Rudolf 
knew  that  this  shop  had  a  reputation  for  bouquets,  and  he  had  more 
than  once  thought  whether,  in  token  of  gratitude  for  her  kindness- 
es, he  ought  not  to  order  a  nosegay  there  and  present  it  to  Madame 
Carouge. 

This  morning  he  was  about  to  turn  into  the  hotel  to  get  liis  break- 
fast, when  he  saw  Captain  Loigerot  coming  out  of  the  flower  shop. 
He  stood  for  an  instant  balancing  himself  on  the  door-step,  his  legs 
wide  apart,  and  a  hand  deep  down  in  each  pocket;  a  smile  of  per- 
fect but  indescribable  satisfaction  broadened  his  face,  while  it  nar- 
rowed his  eyes  into  slits. 

Rudolf  felt  inquisitive.  What  could  the  captain  want  with 
flowers?  And  then  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  was  possible  that  he, 
too,  wished  to  make  an  offering  to  Madame  Carouge. 

He  was  inclined  to  cross  the  street  and  ask  Loigerot  what  he  had 
been  doing,  but  his  reserve  made  him  hesitate.  Presently  the  clock- 
maker  came  up  and  spoke  to  the  captain,  and  then  seeing  Engemann 
in  the  hotel  entrance,  they  both  crossed  over  to  him. 

Riesen  was  laughing  heartily,  but  Loigerot  seemed  confused, 

"Well,  well,  my  friend,"  the  clockmaker  said,  "I  admire  you 
immensely ;  such  promptitude  is  only  to  be  expected  from  a  soldier, 
and  no  one  can  say  you  are  faint-hearted. " 

Loigerot  looked  redder  than  usual,  Engemann  thought, 

"Why  should  I  be  faint-hearted?"  the  stout  man  answered.     He 


133  AT   THE    KED   GLOVE. 

had  not  made  a  confidant  of  Monsieur  Riesen,  and  he  did  not  care 
to  be  ridiculed  before  Engemann.  "I — I — "  he  pulled  at  the  tuft 
of  hair  on  his  chin.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  it  ■would  be  ungrateful  on 
my  part  to  have  hesitation." 

Riesen  burst  into  another  hearty  laugh.  "Great  heavens!  I  beg 
pardon,"  he  said.  "I  had  no  notion  of  your  rapidity;  that  walk 
home" — he  lowered  his  voice — "that  gave  the  affair  a  lift,  I  fancy. 
Well,  I  congratulate  you.     Ha!  ha!" 

The  captain  nodded,  but  he  looked  grave,  and  as  he  walked  away, 
Madame  Carouge's  parting  request  came  back  to  the  clockmaker, 
and  he  felt  foolish. 

"Pray  keep  this  affair  secret,  dear  friends,"  she  had  said,  holding 
his  and  his  wife's  hand  in  each  of  hers.  "People  might  laugh,  and 
our  captain  would  not  submit  to  ridicule,  I  fear." 

And  Monsieur  Riesen  had  solemnly  promised  over  that  soft  hand 
that  no  one  should  learn  anything  from  him,  and  now  he  had  joked 
the  captain  before  Engemann.  Already  he  saw  a  question  in  En- 
gemann's  honest  blue  eyes.     He  must  endeavor  to  prevent  this. 

"  I  am  fortunate  this  morning,"  he  said  to  the  young  fellow.  "  I 
had  been  planning  how  I  could  see  you." 

Rudolf  smiled.  "I  am  easily  found.  I  am  at  the  bank,. or  I 
am  to  be  found  here  at  this  hour,  and  at  dinner." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know;  but  during  the  day  I  have  my  business  to  see 
to,  and  I  hear  when  you  leave  the  bank  you  take  prodigious  walks 
into  the  country." 

"  Yes,  I  am  fond  of  a  walk.  I  get  an  appetite;  it  gives  me  some- 
thing to  do."' 

Riesen  gave  him  a  smile  that  puzzled  Engemann,  it  was  so  incred- 
ulous. 

"  I  should  have  thought  you  might  find  plenty  to  do  here." 

There  was  the  slightest  movement  of  his  eyes  towards  the  hotel. 

"  You  have  something  to  tell  me,"  Engemann  said;  he  had  often 
listened  to  the  clockmaker's  talk  with  Loigerot  and  others,  and  he 
was  on  his  guard  against  his  fashion  of  extracting  a  confidence. 

Rudolf  was  too  simple  to  be  irritated  by  ridicule ;  he  had  not  self ^ 
consciousness  enough  to  apply  it  personally;  but  he  shrank  from 
any  comment  on  his  friendship  for  the  widow, 

"Yes,  yes."  The  clockmaker  smiled  at  the  cheek:  there  was  no 
obtuseness  in  Monsieur  Riesen;  he  was  fully  conscious  of  the  force 
of  every  blow  Avliich  he  either  dealt  or  received.     "  I  was  about  to 


AT   TUE   BED   GLOVE.  133 

propose  to  you  that,  as  the  weather  now  seems  settled,  there  is,  I 
fancy,  no  hiuderance  to  our  boating  expedition  being  fixed  for  Sun- 
day.    What  do  you  say?    Are  you  able  to  go  with  us?" 

"  Thank  you,  yes;  I  shall  enjoy  it  of  all  things.  At  what  time  do 
you  start?" 

"We  are  to  breakfast  with  Madame  Carouge  aboiit  ten  o'cloek, 
and  afterwards  we  can  all  go  together  to  the  station.  I  will  order  a 
boat  to  be  in  readiness  at  Scherzliugen  to  take  us  as  far  as  Gunten. 
On  our  return  Madame  Carouge  wishes  to  land  before  we  reach 
Thun,  and  to  walk  back  through  the  woods.  We  can  dine  at  the 
Freienhof,  and  come  home  by  train  in  the  cool  of  the  evening. 
Do  you  approve  of  this  programme?" 

He  smiled,  but  his  voice  sounded  stubborn.  It  galled  him  to 
think  that  this  young  fellow  was  really  master  of  the  situation ;  for, 
in  making  his  arrangements  last  night  with  Madame  Carouge,  she 
had  more  than  once  said  that  they  must  depend  on  whether  Sunday 
would  suit  the  convenience  of  Monsieur  Engemann. 

Engemaun's  face  was  sufficient  answer  to  Riesen's  question,  and 
it  is  possible  that  the  glow  of  pleasure  it  expressed  was  an  extra 
cause  of  irritation  to  his  companion. 

"I  think  your  programme  is  charming,"  the  young  fellow  said. 
Then,  although  he  was  not  very  observant,  he  noticed  Riesen's  grave 
manner.  "It  is  very  kind,"  he  added,  with  a  smile  genial  enough 
to  sweeten  a  cynic, ' '  to  take  so  much  trouble  to  give  others  a  pleas- 
ant holiday." 

"I  intend  to  get  some  pleasure  out  of  it  too,  my  friend" — Riesen 
went  on  in  his  mocking  manner — "though  I  do  not  expect  to  reap 
from  it  the  profit  to  which  you  aspire — pardon  me,  I  am  keeping 
you  from  j^our  breakfast." 

The  sudden  color  in  the  young  fellow's  face  showed  him  where 
Engemann  was  vulnerable.  He  smiled  pleasantly  as  he  nodded  his 
farewell. 

"After  all,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  if  he  has  any  sense  of  honor,  he 
will  not  pi'opose  to  her.  He  must  know  what  will  be  said  of  such 
an  unequal  match.  The  worst  of  it  is,  she  may  make  it  impossible 
for  the  young  fellow  to  help  proposing  to  her.  Those  ej^es  of  hers 
are  omnipotent."  He  arched  his  eyebrows  at  this  till  they  nearly 
reached  his  forehead,  and  letting  his  gray  beard  sink  into  his  waist- 
coat, he  walked  thoughtfully  home. 

Meanwhile  "the  young  fellow  "  had  walked  up  to  Madame  Ca- 


134  AT    THE    KED    GLOVE. 

rouge's  parlor  in  a  happj''  mood.  He  loved  boating,  and  it  was 
some  time  since  he  had  had  a  real  holiday.  Riesen's  programme 
had  sounded  to  him  almost  fairy-like,  for  he  knew  well  how  beauti- 
ful was  the  scenery  of  the  Lake  of  Thun.  He  was  impatient  to 
thank  Madame  Carouge  for  the  pleasure  she  had  procured  him. 

The  glass  door  was  closed,  and  when  he  looked  through  the  win- 
dow he  saw  that  the  room  was  empty. 

It  was  still  early,  and  Madame  Carouge  had  been  tired  out  on  the 
previous  evening.  This  morning,  instead  of  rising  as  soon  as  she 
had  drank  her  chocolate,  she  had  turned  round  and  was  now  fast 
asleep.  Before  she  came  down-stairs  Rudolf  Engemann  was  on  his 
way  to  the  bank. 


PART    IV. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE   CAPTAIN  S  NOSEGAY. 


CAPTAm  Loigerot's  excitement  must 
certainly  have  kept  watch  over  him  dur- 
_\\     ing  the  night,  for  as  soon  as  he  opened 
^-^y  his  eyes  he  was  conscious  that  some  de- 
lightful event  was  in  store  for  him. 

He  rose,  dressed  himself  with  extra 
care,  stared  at  himself  in  the  glass  to  see 
if  he  looked  as  young  as  he  felt,  and  then 
went  to  pay  his  daily  visit  to  Lenoir, 
whose  shop  was  in  the  Kornmarkt,  just 
opposite  the  Ogre  Fountain. 

The  hair-dresser  was  in  a  sulky  mood. 
He  had  learned  all  about  Madame  Ca- 
rouge's  soiree,  and  although  he  did  not 
rank  himself  with  the  other  guests,  he 
thought  he  was  quite  as  good  as  Madame 
Bobineau  or  her  shop-girl.  "Madame 
Bobineau,  indeed!  why,  she  would  never 
have  come  to  Berne  but  for  his  interven- 
tion." 

The  captain  was  as  chirpy  as  a  bird. 
"Ha!  ha!" — he  rubbed  his  hands,  laugh- 
ed, and  in  consequence  narrowly  missed 
receiving  a  mouthful  of  lather — "we  had 
a  charming  entertainment  last  night." 
"Will  monsieur  be  good  enough  to 
hold  his  face  still?"  the  hair-dresser  said,  grimly.      "My  razor  is 
very  sharp  this  morning,  and — " 
Then,  while  his  victim  sat  motionless  as  marble,  Lenoir  went  on : 
"  Yes,  yes;  I  heard  all  about  it.     I  heard  that  the  gentlemen  en- 

6 


136  AT   TUE    RED    GLOVE. 

joyed  themselves  more  than  the  ladies  did.     You  wanted  another 
man  or  two,  something  lively,  I  fancy." 

Loigerot  longed  to  say  that  he  was  sure  some  of  the  ladies  had 
enjoyed  the  soiree,  but  his  words  never  came  to  him  quickly,  and 
he  feared  that  a  gash  on  his  chin  might  make  him  unpresentable  to 
Marie.     So  he  remained  silent,  and  Lenoir  relapsed  into  sulkiness. 

The  captain  did  not  stay  to  talk  when  the  shaving  was  over,  for  • 
he  was  impatient  to  order  a  bouquet ;  he  had  resolved  not  to  present 
himself  at  Madame  Bobineau's  without  some  flowers  for  Marie. 

It  was  disappointing  to  hear  that  he  must  wait  for  them  till  after- 
noon ;  the  garden  belonging  to  the  shop  was  at  some  little  distance 
from  the  town,  and  the  girl  said,  "although  there  were  plenty  of 
ordinary  flowers  in  the  shop,  as  monsieur  desired  choice  roses  and 
carnations,  and  some  hot-house  blossoms  besides,  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  send  for  them." 

It  had  been  a  relief  to  his  fidgety  impatience  to  get  that  chat  with 
Riesen  and  Engemann  when  he  left  the  flower  shop,  but  he  felt  an- 
noyed with  the  clockmaker.  He  had  a  sort  of  uneasy  dislike  of 
ridicule,  and  he  especially  wished  that  Engemann  should  not  hear 
of  his  engagement  until  he  had  seen  Marie  again.  When  he  remem- 
bered her  friendliness  and  her  smiles  last  night  he  felt  tolerably  safe, 
but  still  it  seemed  wiser  not  to  put  himself  into  competition  with  a 
younger  man  till  the  affair  had  taken  a  step  in  advance. 

"  If  the  httle  darling  accepts  my  flowers,"  he  thought,  "  that  will 
be  a  clincher.  A  sweet  innocent  girl  like  that  will  not  take  presents 
from  one  man  while  she  smiles  on  another." 

Instead  of  paying  his  usual  visit  to  the  Hotel  Beauregard,  he 
actually  walked  off  to  Zimmerwald  and  breakfasted  there,  timing 
his  return  so  as  to  reach  Berne  soon  after  four  o'clock,  the  hour  at 
which  the  flowers  were  to  be  ready. 

He  was  a  little  tired  with  his  long  walk,  for  the  road  had  been 
hilly  and  the  sun  hot,  and  he  sat  down  to  rest  in  the  outer  shop 
while  the  young  woman  behind  the  counter  went  into  the  green- 
house beyond  to  fetch  the  nosegay ;  there  was  a  look  of  conscious 
pride  in  her  face  as  she  held  it  out  for  his  inspection. 

"  It  is  beautiful,  is  it  not,  monsieur?  I  am  not  sure  that  we  have 
made  so  fine  a  bouquet  this  season.  Those  carnations  are  unique 
pot  flowers.  Monsieur  Dunelloy's  own  seedlings,  and  the  roses  are 
choice  blossoms,  and  these  delicate  sprays  between  are  very  rare. 
Monsieur  may  be  sure  that  the  bouquet  will  give  satisfaction. "    She 


•  *' iSS'".""'',jj 


THE    GALLANT    CAPTAIN    WAS    EAGER    TO    SEE    MARIE'S    DELIGHT. 


1 


AT   THE    KED    GLOVE.  139 

turned  the  big  nosegay  slowly  round.     "Will  monsieur  have  the 
kindness  to  say  where  it  must  be  sent?" 

The  captain  blushed  and  stuffed  his  hands  into  his  pockets. 
"Nowhere,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  solemnly.  "I  intend  to  carry 
it  myself." 

The  young  woman  looked  at  the  captain  and  then  at  the  big  bou- 
quet, but  she  was  too  polite  to  smile. 

"Monsieur  will  wish  me  to  put  some  paper  round  it?"  she  said. 

Loigerot  held  out  his  hand,  and  taking  the  nosegay  from  her,  he 
surveyed  it  with  satisfaction. 

"Yes,  it  is  beautiful,"  he  said;  "it  seems  to  me,  however,  that 
already  it  has  some  pretty  paper  round  it.  If  you  wrap  it  up  you 
may  injure  the  flowers,  mademoiselle,  and  crumple  the  lace  edging. 
No;  I  will  take  it  as  it  is." 

He  handed  her  the  nosegay  to  hold  while  he  felt  in  his  pocket  for 
the  price  he  had  arranged  to  pay  for  it,  and  then,  swelling  with  the 
pride  he  felt  in  his  purchase,  and  eager  to  see  Marie's  delight,  the 
captain  came  out  of  the  shop. 

He  kept  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  from  the  hotel.  The 
woman  who  had  served  him  came  to  the  door,  and  stood  laughing 
at  the  short,  broad  figure  stumping  along  with  the  huge  nosegay 
carried  carefully  in  front.  Loigerot  was  not  at  all  ashamed  of  him- 
self, but  he  wanted  to  avoid  Riesen's  shop,  and  also  the  chance  of  a 
meeting  with  the  hair-dresser,  who  might  be  coming  round  the  cor- 
ner of  the  Beauregard  from  his  shop  in  the  Kornmarkt. 

"  It  was  a  happy  thought.  Madame  Carouge  says  it  is  the  right 
thing  to  give  a  nosegay."  He  puffed  out  his  cheeks.  "I — I  like 
to  do  the  right  thing.  I  always  did  the  right  thing  in  the  army,  and 
I  shall  do  the  right  thing  in  courtshiiD." 

Just  as  he  reached  the  bank  Rudolf  Engemann  came  out  of  it, 
and  seeing  Loigerot's  nosegay,  he  stopped  short. 

"Halloo,  captain!" — he  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh — "what  a  splen- 
did nosegay!  I'll  wager  it's  on  its  way  to  a  fair  lady — and  yet  you 
have  passed  the  Beauregard.  Can  I  guess  for  whom  these  flowers 
are  intended?" 

Loigerot  reddened,  and  moved  first  one  foot  and  then  the  other. 
"  You  need  not  guess.  I  am  carrying  them  to  a  friend."  He  spoke 
with  dignity,  and  he  planted  his  legs  wide  apart,  and  stared  defiantly 
at  Engemann.  The  young  fellow's  broad  smile  had  made  him  feel 
ridiculous.     "There  is  nothing  for  you  to  laugh  at" — his  words 


140  AT    THE    KED    GLOVE. 

came  out  quickly.     "I  am  carrying  tliese  flowers  to  the  lady  who 
is  to  be  my  wife." 

Engemann  took  off  his  hat  and  made  a  low  bow.  ' '  You  must 
pardon  me,  captain,"  he  said.  "  Please  accept  my  congratulations. 
I  was  not  aware  that  you  had  any  such  intentions.  I  wish  you 
success." 

He  was  going  to  ask  the  lady's  name,  but  the  captain's  impatience 
would  not  brook  further  delay;  he  returned  the  young  fellow's  bow, 
and  then  crossed  the  street  and  disappeared  under  the  arcade.  He 
had  no  wish  to  let  Engemann  surprise  his  secret.  Until  he  and 
Marie  appeared  together  in  public  the  captain  thought  there  was  no 
occasion  to  speak  of  his  engagement  to  any  one  except  Madame 
Carouge. 

"I  must  do  something  for  that  good  lady,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  She 
has  been  very  kind.  Well,  I  might  offer  her  a  bouquet— not  such  a 
one  as  this,  of  course."  He  looked  lovingly  at  his  treasure,  and 
pulled  at  the  tuft  of  hair  on  his  chin.  "  Engemann  might  not  like 
it.  Ha!  ha!  I  need  not  trouble  myself  about  him;  he  can  only  have 
eyes  for  his  widow.  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  conceive  why  he 
was  not  at  the  soiree.  If  he  does  not  look  sharp,  my  wedding  will 
take  place  before  his  is  settled." 

But  here  he  came  in  sight  of  the  Red  Glove;  the  sun  fell  upon  it 
through  the  archway  in  front,  and  the  hand  looked  redder  and  more 
plethoric  than  usual. 

If  the  captain  had  been  imaginative  he  might  have  fancied  that 
the  burly  red  emblem  was  ready  to  burst  its  three  gilt  buttons  in 
giving  him  a  grip  of  friendly  welcome.  But  it  was  the  old  story 
of  eyes  and  no  eyes ;  the  captain  saw  no  change  in  the  glove.  To 
Marie  this  morning  it  had  administered  a  shock.  To  her  the  Red 
Glove  had  seemed  scarlet  with  anger,  and  she  could  hardly  believe 
that  it  had  not  again  pointed  at  her  in  mockery. 

Last  night  Madame  Bobineau  had  signed  to  her  to  enter  the  house 
with  her,  and  then,  when  the  captain  had  shaken  hands  with  them 
and  had  gone  up-stairs  to  his  own  rooms,  the  old  woman  had  es- 
corted Marie  to  her  lodging. 

"You  must  never  go  out  at  night  by  yourself,  child,"  she  said; 
"it  ruins  a  girl's  character  if  she  is  seen  out  by  herself  in  the  dark 
so  late  as  this." 

ivlurie  had  been  very  absent  to-day,  and  had  made  more  than  one 
mistake  in  her  duties,  yet  Madame  Bobineau  had  only  smiled. 


AT    THE    RED    GLOVE.  141 

Ouce  she  had  shaken  her  head,  for  Marie  had  shown  kid  gloves  to 
a  customer  who  asked  for  gants  de  Suede ;  but  on  the  whole  the  girl 
was  relieved  to  have  escaped  the  scolding  she  had  felt  to  be  inevi- 
table. She  thought  that  the  party  must  have  sweetened  Madame 
Bobineau's  temper. 

"If  she  enjoyed  it  as  much  as  I  did,  no  wonder.  What  a  mis- 
take I  had  nearly  made!  I  thought  I  should  be  miserable  and  fright- 
ened, and  that  nice  old  man  was  so  kind!  I  liked  him  so  much! 
It  has  all  given  me  something  to  think  about."  She  blushed;  she 
knew  that  she  had  been  thinking  far  more  about  Monsieur  Enge- 
mann  than  of  the  party;  she  had  so  wondered  at  his  absence;  if  he 
had  been  there,  it  seemed  to  Marie  that  she  should  have  been  too 
happy.  She  liked  the  captain,  but  she  wished  he  would  not  stare 
so  much;  but  then  the  sisters  had  always  told  her  that  she  must 
never  take  up  a  prejudice  against  any  one  because  of  a  special  man- 
ner— a  manner  of  which  the  person  was  perhaps  completely  uncon- 
scious. 

In  the  case  of  Madame  Carouge  she  had  plainly  made  a  mistake; 
the  widow  was  patronizing,  but  her  kindness  in  giving  her  the  flow- 
ers had  proved  that  she  did  not  really  dislike  her — 

The  door  opened,  and  Marie  rose,  ready  to  receive  a  customer. 
Her  eyes  were  at  once  attracted  by  the  flowers  which  Captain  Loi- 
gerot  carried ;  she  saw  them  almost  before  she  recognized  him. 

He  stood  still  and  made  her  a  low  bow. 

"I  hope  I  see  mademoiselle  well,"  he  said.  Then  to  himself, 
"  What  a  little  darling  she  looks!"  Then,  going  up  to  the  counter, 
he  shook  hands  with  Marie.  "I  am  sure  mademoiselle  has  slept 
well,  she  looks  so — so  bright."  He  stopped  abruptly;  he  began  to 
be  nervous.  How  was  he  to  give  her  the  flowers?  He  should  have 
asked  Madame  Carouge.  He  cleared  his  throat  with  an  effort,  and 
at  the  sound  the  door  of  communication  opened,  and  in  came  Ma- 
dame Bobineau. 

"Good-day,  monsieur;  it  is  so  very  kind  of  monsieur  to  call,"  she 
said,  fawningly.     "Mercy,  what  beautiful  flowers!" 

Loigerot  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  turned  to  Marie.  "Does 
mademoiselle  also  think  these  flowers  beautiful?"  he  said,  pufling 
out  his  words,  and  keeping  his  eyes  on  her  face,  which  was  now 
full  of  admiration. 

"They  are  lovely,"  the  girl  said.  "I  did  not  know  that  there 
were  such  beautiful  flowers."    She  bent  forward  to  smell  them. 


143  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

The  captain  held  out  the  nosegay.  ' '  Mademoiselle,  they  are  yours 
if  you  will  do  me  the  great  honor  of  accepting  them." 

She  did  not  take  the  flowers  ;  instead,  she  pressed  her  hands  ner- 
vously together,  and  looked  at  the  captain  to  see  if  he  were  in  earnest. 
"They  are  yours,"  he  repeated,  and  he  pressed  the  nosegay  into 
her  hands. 

"  Oh,  monsieur,  how  kind,  how  very  kind!"  Her  eyes  swam  with 
tears  as  she  looked  at  him.  "I  don't  know  how  to  thank  you;" 
and  then  she  hid  her  face  in  the  flowers. 

Loigerot  pulled  at  the  tuft  of  hair  on  his  chin.  "  Sweet,  innocent 
creature !"  he  murmured.  He  had  an  idea  that  the  correct  thing 
would  be  for  him  to  kiss  Marie;  but  at  the  same  time  she  looked  so 
unconscious  that  he  feared  to  alarm  her.  He  glanced  appealingly 
at  Madame  Bobineau. 

"Monsieur  is  indeed  kind,"  said  that  worthy  woman.  "You 
owe  him  many  thanks,  Marie." 

The  captain  drew  himself  up,  and  planted  his  feet  still  farther 
from  each  other. 

"  Mademoiselle  "—he  spoke  very  slowly;  he  felt  that  this  was  a 
pregnant  sentence— "I  should  say.  Mademoiselle  Marie  Peyrolles,  I 
am  delighted.  You  have  thanked  me  in  the  most  marked  and  also 
in  the  best  possible  way  by  accepting  this  small  offering.  Mademoi- 
Belle  has  gratified  me  more  than  I  can  say." 

He  had  been  drawing  out  a  huge  red  and  yellow  silk  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  now  he  buried  his  nose  in  it. 

"  Marie  "—Madame  Bobineau  seemed  to  be  in  a  hurry— "will 
you  go  to  the  kitchen  and  get  some  water?  You  will  find  a  glass 
vase  there  which  will  hold  your  nosegay.  It  is  a  shame  to  keep 
such  flowers  out  of  water. " 

Marie  went  away  with  her  treasure,  burying  her  face  in  the  flow- 
ers as  she  went.  She  had  not  felt  so  happy  since  she  came  to  Berne. 
She  longed  to  kiss  them  every  one,  they  were  such  lovely  livin"- 
companions.     She  could  not  yet  realize  that  they  were  her  own. 

Madame  Bobineau  came  scJ  close  up  to  the  captain  that  he  felt  just 
a  nttle  nervous.  Could  it  be  part  of  the  programme  that  he  had  to 
kiss  the  guardian  of  his  future  wife?  He  looked  at  the  grim  face 
now  very  near  his,  and  he  retreated  a  step. 
"Diahle!"  he  said:  "  I'd  as  soon  kiss  a  toad." 
Madame  Bobineau's  humility  being  only  skin-deep,  she  was  quite 
unconscious  of  his  repugnance. 


AT  THE   RED   GLOVE.  143 

"Monsieur,"  she  whispered,  "you  must  be  very  cautious;  Marie 
is  not  prepared.  She  is  very  shy,  very  childish,  and  your  face  is 
too  expressive." 

"Confound  it,  madame  !" — he  spolce  quickly  enough  now — "a 
fellow  can't  help  his  looks  at  such  a  time.  If  I'd  kissed  her,  now, 
you  might  have — " 

She  put  her  skinny  fingers  on  his  arm. 

"I  hear  her  coming,  monsieur;  do  not  weaken  the  good  impres- 
sion you  have  made,  by  an  imprudence." 

"  Then  I  may  not  kiss  her?" 

She  raised  her  hands  in  protest;  then  as  Marie  pushed  open  the 
glass  door  the  old  woman  looked  meaningly  at  the  captain,  and 
kissed  the  back  of  her  own  brown  shrivelled  hand. 

It  seemed  to  Marie  that  she  had  not  thanked  him  enough.  She 
placed  the  glass  with  the  nosegay  carefully  on  the  counter,  and  then 
she  turned  to  him. 

"  Thank  you  ever  so  much,  monsieur ;  I  never  had  such  a  nose- 
gay before.  Ah,  monsieur  " — her  shining  eyes  were  so  full  of  grati- 
tude that  Loigerot  drew  nearer;  he  thought  he  might  at  least  take 
her  hand — "you  are  so  kind,"  she  said,  "as  kind  to  me  as  if  you 
were  my  father." 

Loigerot  started,  and  then  bowed  stiffly  to  hide  his  confusion. 

"Mademoiselle  is  —  easy  to  please."  "Mbrbleu/  this  is  harder 
work  than  storming  the  Redan, "  he  thought.  ' '  I  must  go  and  fortify 
myself  at  the  cafe."  He  bowed  to  Madame  Bobineau  and  to  Marie. 
"Au  revoir,  madame,"  he  said,  and  he  left  the  shop. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

RUDOLF  HEAKS  NEWS. 


The  bright  summer  afternoon  had  become  more  beautiful,  the 
hardness  of  the  blue  sky  had  softened,  and  though  the  sunbeams 
shot  volleys  of  brilliant  light  from  between  the  tree  -  stems,  long 
shadows  fell  across  the  avenue,  and  gave  a  party-colored  effect  to 
the  three  young  men  who  walked  along  it  in  the  direction  of  Berne. 

His  two  fellow-clerks.  Christen  and  Wengern,  had  met  Engemann 
at  the  Enge,  and  were  walking  home  with  him.  As  they  came  down 
through  the  slanting  shadows,  sometimes  Rudolf  would  be  almost 


144  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

eclipsed  by  the  gloom,  while  the  two  others  were  revealed  with 
startling  distinctness  as  the  clear  sunshine  lit  up  their  red,  good- 
tempered  faces  and  straw  hats ;  then,  in  turn,  they  sank  into  ob- 
scurity and  Engemann  was  clearly  revealed,  tall  and  strong-look- 
ing, but  with  just  now  a  perplexed  expression  on  his  usually  serene 
face. 

It  seems  as  if  big  men,  as  a  rule,  have  little  talent  for  intrigue  or 
contrivances.  Engemann  wanted  to  get  rid  of  his  companions,  and 
yet  he  could  hit  upon  no  device  by  which  to  do  it.  He  shrank  from 
showing  his  desire  to  be  quit  of  them ;  it  might  vex  them,  he  thought ; 
also  he  feared  to  make  them  suspicious. 

"  Somewhere  hereabouts,"  said  young  Christen,  whose  slight  boy- 
ish figure  made  a  strong  contrast  to  his  tall,  robust  companion,  "is 
the  Bower  of  Bliss,  in  which  our  fair  widow  lived  in  old  Carouge's 
time.  I  believe  the  fellow  was  a  regular  Turk,  and  kept  her  shut 
up  here  with  a  duenna." 

"He  wasn't  a  Turk,  then,"  said  Wengern;  "that's  a  confusion 
of  ideas,  and  he  would  have  had  a  choice  of  wives  if  he  had  been  a 
Turk.     But  where  is  this  retreat?     One  ought  to  find  it  out." 

He  gave  a  furtive  look  at  Engemann;  but  the  latter  was  staring 
at  the  river  far  below  the  green  bank  and  the  road  which  lay  be- 
tween.    He  seemed  not  to  have  heard  Wengern's  suggestion. 

He  had,  however,  heard  it  distinctly,  and  his  thoughts  were  full 
of  Madame  Carouge.  In  these  last  days  she  had  faded  out  of  his 
reveries.  Her  glowing  beauty  and  the  dark,  bewitching  sweetness 
of  her  liquid  eyes  had  been  replaced  by  a  pure  pale  face  with  a  color 
as  faint  as  the  blush  on  an  early  rose;  and  clear  gray  truthful  eyes 
seemed  to  look  at  him,  full  of  the  unshrinking  candor  of  childhood. 
But  in  thinking  of  Marie,  Engemann  was  conscious  of  a  different 
kind  of  contemplation  from  that  evoked  by  the  glowing  image  of 
the  widow.  He  did  not  think  so  much  of  Marie's  looks.  Although 
he  did  not  remind  himself  that  the  question  of  companionship  had 
been  one  of  the  obstacles  that  had  held  him  back  from  the  beautiful 
widow,  he  knew  that  this  young  girl  fully  realized  this  idea.  Enge- 
mann did  not  consciously  think  about  love  for  either  of  them;  but 
he  felt  that  if  he  could  aSord  to  marry,  he  could  go  through  life 
happily  with  Marie.  His  only  fear  would  be  the  difficulty  of  win- 
ning love  from  so  young  and  shy  a  creature. 

His  companions'  talk  now  brought  back  vividly  a  vision  of  Ma- 
dame Carouge — and  Rudolf  felt  shocked  by  a  sudden  sense  of  in- 


I 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  145 

gratitude.  One  always  receives  a  mental  shock  in  finding  that  a 
quality  on  which  one  has  prided  one's  self  is  wanting,  or  that  a 
defect  especially  distasteful  is  present  in  one's  mental  constitution. 
Engemann  despised  caprice,  and  yet  he  now  felt  convicted  of  it. 
He  could  give  absolutely  no  valid  reason  for  the  sudden  slackening 
of  his  interest  in  his  beautiful  friend.  Only  a  week  ago  her  image 
had  pursued  him  so  persistently  that  he  had  had  to  banish  it  by  a 
strong  effort  so  that  it  might  not  interfere  with  business,  and  now — 
He  felt  much  self-contempt  as  he  recalled  the  occasions  lately  when 
he  had  been  glad  to  talk  to  Riesen  or  to  some  other  acquaintance  as 
he  came  down  the  hotel  stairs,  so  as  to  give  himself  an  excuse  for 
shirking  an  interview  to  which  a  few  days  before  he  had  looked 
forward  with  eagerness. 

He  did  not  attempt  self-deception;  he  knew  very  well  that  it  was 
the  sight  of  Marie,  and  the  impression  made  on  him  by  her  sweet, 
innocent  ways,  by  her  charming  simplicity  and  frankness,  that  had 
chilled  his  warm  feeling  for  Madame  Carouge.  But  he  told  him- 
self, sternly,  this  was  no  valid  reason,  it  was  mere  caprice,  as  un- 
manly as  it  was  contemptible  in  any  man.  His  head  sank  with 
shame  on  his  breast  as  he  remembered  that  in  his  own  case  it  was 
aggravated  by  the  kindnesses  which  this  beautiful  woman  had  shown 
him. 

He  had  known  her  for  six  months,  and  from  the  beginning  of 
their  acquaintance  he  had  accepted  benefits  from  her.  When  he 
came  a  stranger  to  Berne  it  was  Madame  Carouge  who  had  found 
him  his  comfortable  lodging  at  the  Red  Glove ;  and  when  he  told 
her  that  his  means  were  limited,  she  had  arranged  the  price  for  him, 
and  had  induced  Madame  Bobineau  to  lower  her  terms. 

Indeed,  the  widow  had  taken  all  his  troubles  on  herself.  She  had 
lent  him  books,  had  asked  him  as  a  favor  to  use  the  free  admissions 
sent  to  her  for  concerts  and  other  entertainments,  on  the  plea  that 
her  mourning  prevented  her  from  using  them.  Last,  but  certainly 
before  all  the  rest,  he  had  once  esteemed  her  kindness  in  admitting 
him  as  an  especially  favored  visitor  to  those  quiet  talks  in  the  glass- 
fronted  parlor.  Lately  these  had  scarcely  been  mere  talks.  Enge- 
mann remembered,  and  he  reddened  at  the  recollection,  that  he  had 
stood  gazing  at  her,  wondering  at  and  enjoying  the  sight  of  her 
beauty,  as  she  leaned  back  with  languid  grace  on  her  sofa,  her  dark 
lashes  resting  on  her  velvet  cheeks,  then  raised  suddenly  with  a 
wonderful  glance,  its  fire  quenched  at  once  in  liquid  softness  as  she 

6* 


146  AT   THE   llED    GLOVE. 

met  his  eyes  fixed  on  hers.  The  young  fellow  could  only  liken 
the  eyes  of  Madame  Carouge  to  those  of  the  Princess  in  the  fairy 
tale. 

Yes,  he  had  behaved  heartlessly  towards  her;  he  had  been  most 
neglectful.     He  would  go  and  see  her  this  evening. 

"Engemann" — he  started,  and  both  the  young  fellows  laughed, 
for  they  had  been  watching  his  troubled  face — "why  were  you  not 
at  the  party  last  night?" 

"What  party?" 

"What!  you  have  not  even  heard?"  Christen  rubbed  his  hands. 
"Why,  your  friend  Madame  Carouge  gave  a  party  last  night. 
What  have  you  done  to  the  fair  widow  that  she  should  not  invite 
you  with  the  rest  of  her  friends?" 

Engemann  was  surprised,  but  he  answered,  quietly,  "I  suppose 
Madame  Carouge  is  at  liberty  to  invite  whom  she  pleases.  Were 
you  present?" 

" No;  we  heard  of  it  from  Lenoir.  He  says  it  was  a  small  affair. 
Riesen  and  his  wife  and  Captain  Loigerot  were  the  only  guests, 
except  your  old  witch  of  a  landlady  and  her  shop-girl.  It  is  mj'ste- 
rious.  I  think  the  widow  might  have  asked  a  young  man  or  two, 
if  it  was  only  for  the  sake  of  that  pretty  little  girl." 

Engemann  stared ;  the  idea  of  Madame  Bobineau  at  a  party  was 
ridiculous. 

"That  chatterbox  Lenoir  was  joking,"  he  said;  "he  was  stuffing 
you  to  see  how  much  you  would  both  swallow." 

"Aha!"  Christen  laughed.  "The  grapes  are  sour,  my  friend; 
you  must  find  them  very  sour,  I  am  sure.  Why,  we  all  considered 
you  as  good  as  betrothed  to  madame. " 

"I  have  already  told  you,  Christen" — Engemann  spoke  sternly 
— "that  I  will  not  have  this  nonsense  talked  about  me.  You  have 
no  right  to  couple  any  woman's  name  with  mine.  I  tell  you  you 
are  altogether  mistaken." 

He  fixed  his  blue  eyes  on  the  young  fellow,  and  Christen  shrank 
from  the  gleam  he  saw  in  them.     Wengern,  however,  interfered. 

" Come,  come,  Engemann,"  he  said,  coolly,  "it  is  all  very  well  to 
say  '  I  will,  and  I  will  not, '  when  the  fellow  you  say  it  to  is  half 
your  size.  Christen's  is  only  a  bit  of  chaff ;  and,  after  all,  a  man 
must  pay  for  what  he  gets,  whether  it  is  success  with  a  woman  or 
any  other  kind  of  success.  Every  one  in  the  town  knows  that  the 
widow  favors  you  among  us  all.     I  don't  blame  you  for  winning 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE,  147 

her"— he  laughed— "but  don't  you  be  angry  and  blame  Christen 
for  chaffing  you.    Come  along,  Heinrich ,  he  would  rather  be  alone." 
They  both  pulled  off  their  straw  hats,  and  walking  quickly  on, 
they  turned  into  a  road  that  led  them  down  beside  the  river. 

Rudolf  Engemann  stood  still.  He  was  very  angry  for  some  min- 
utes; then,  as  the  fumes  cleared,  his  judgment  asserted  itself,  and 
he  felt  like  a  fool. 

"I  have  offended  her,  then,  and  she  would  not  ask  me.  No;  she 
is  too  kind  and  gentle  to  be  angry.  She  did  not  ask  me  because 
she  thought  I  should  not  care  to  go." 

He  set  his  teeth  hard  as  he  went  briskly  into  Berne.  Walking  up 
the  Spitalgasse,  in  cool  shadow  now,  for  the  tall  houses  made  it  im- 
possible for  the  sun  to  reach  the  street,  he  remembered  that  the  flip- 
pant young  fellow  had  said  Madame  Bobineau  and  Marie  were  at 
the  party.  As  he  passed  the  Red  Glove  he  looked  in  at  the  shop- 
window.  Marie  was  there,  but  he  could  not  see  her  face  ;  it  was 
hidden  in  a  bouquet  of  flowers  that  stood  on  the  counter.  She  was 
leaning  over  them.  She  seemed  to  be  actually  kissing  the  blossoms. 
•'Poor  little  thing!  one  sees  she  has  been  bred  in  the  country," 
he  thought ;  and  he  entered  the  house  and  went  up-stairs  to  his 
rooms. 

He  brushed  his  hair  with  extra  care— parted  not  quite  in  the  mid- 
dle—if he  had  not  kept  it  closely  cropped  it  would  have  curled  all 
over  his  head,  not  in  close  woolly  curls,  but  in  sculpturesque  curves. 
As  he  brushed  the  hair  the  rich  gold-color  glowed,  and  his  blue  eyes 
were  almost  black,  the  pupils  had  so  dilated  with  the  eagerness  with 
which  he  thought  of  Madame  Carouge. 

He  reddened  while  he  told  himself  that  he  had  never  affected 
any  warmer  feeUng  than  friendship  for  her;  and  he  wished  their  ac- 
quaintance to  continue  on  its  present  basis.  She  had  always  acted 
like  a  friend  towards  him,  and  he  would  try  to  show  his  gratitude. 

It  was  a  relief  to  find  that  Wengern  and  Christen  were  not  at  the 
table  d'hote.  There  had  been  a  crowd  of  new  arrivals,  and  Enge- 
mann found  his  place  occupied.  He  was  moved  too  far  away  from 
Captain  Loigerot  to  give  an  opportunity  of  talking  to  him. 

He  left  the  table  early.     He  was  anxious  not  to  miss  Madame  Ca- 
rouge, and  it  was  possible  that  some  of  these  new-comers,  many  of 
whom  were  ladies,  might  wish  to  speak  to  her  as  soon  as  dinner  was 
quite  over. 
Madame  Carouge  was  anxiously  waiting  for  him ;  she  knew  by  a 


148  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

secret  prevision  he  would  come,  and  although  she  had  resolved  to 
receive  him  coldly,  she  could  not  banisli  the  gladness  that  sounded 
in  her  voice  and  smiled  at  him  from  her  eyes  and  lips. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  monsieur."  Then  she  straightened  her 
lips,  and  tried  to  remember  his  avoidance  of  her. 

"  You  cannot  be  more  glad  than  I  am,  madame. "  He  kept  the  soft 
hand  in  his  warm  clasp  an  instant.  "  It  seems  so  long  since  I  have 
seen  you.     I  came  to  look  for  you  twice,  but  you  were  absent. " 

She  was  so  glad,  so  very  glad,  to  be  able  to  forgive  him  for  his 
seeming  neglect.  Engemann  felt  that  he  had  never  seen  anything 
so  lovely  as  the  look  she  gave  him  now. 

"I  am  very  sorry  I  missed  you,  and  I  feel  guilty  respecting  you, 
monsieur." 

There  was,  he  thought,  a  touching  penitence  in  her  rich  voice. 

"1  can  hardly  fancy  that,  madame;  the  debt  is,  I  assure  you,  on 
my  side." 

She  had  been  standing  while  she  talked  to  him,  and  he  had  re- 
mained near  the  door-way.  Now,  with  a  rapid  glance  at  the  clock 
opposite  her,  she  pointed  to  a  chair  just  behind  the  door  which 
opened  towards  her  sofa. 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you" — she  seated  herself,  and  smiled  with 
happiness  when  she  saw  that  he  imitated  her — "that  I  invited  a 
few  friends  last  night.  I  feel  you  may  justly  wonder  why  I  left 
you  out."  She  paused,  and  swiftly  glanced  at  him,  but  his  face 
only  showed  deep  attention.  "  The  truth  is,"  she  went  on,  "  I  had 
a  little  plan  in  my  mind  with  which  your  presence  might  have  in- 
terfered." 

"Really?" 

Engemann  felt  puzzled,  troubled  too,  without  finding  out  the  rea- 
son ;  for,  as  has  been  said,  his  perception  was  not  rapid. 

' '  You  have,  I  think,  seen  Mademoiselle  Peyrolles,  the  young  re- 
lation who  has  come  to  live  with  Madame  Bobineau?" 

Engemann  felt  it  a  little  difficult  to  keep  his  eyes  steady,  she 
looked  at  him  so  keenly;  he  merely  bent  his  head  in  answer. 

"Have  you  seen  her  lately,  monsieur?"  The  tone  of  her  voice 
roused  him,  it  was  so  different  from  her  usual  way  of  speaking. 

"No,"  he  said.  "Oh  yes ;  I  saw  her  just  now  as  I  passed  the 
shop  ;  but  her  face  was  buried  in  a  nosegay,"  he  added,  with  a 
smile. 

Madame  Carouge  got  up  quickly  and  went  to  the  window,  as  if 


AT   THE   EED    GLOVE,  149 

she  thought  some  one  was  awaiting  lier  there.  She  felt  stung  al- 
most to  an  outburst  of  jealous  auger  by  this  avowal  that  he  actually 
cared  to  look  at  Marie. 

In  a  moment,  however,  it  flashed  upon  her  that  he  had  made  it 
easier  for  her  to  tell  her  news.  She  turned  on  him  with  a  bright 
smile — the  clock  warned  her  that  she  must  not  delay. 

"You  met  Captain  Loigerot  to-day  with  a  nosegay,  "I  think?"  she 
said,  fixing  her  eyes  on  his  face. 

Engemann  laughed. 

"Yes;  I  saw  him  making  a  sight  of  himself  carrying  an  enor- 
mous nosegay." 

But  as  he  spoke  he  remembered  Marie  over  the  flowers,  and  his 
laughter  ended. 

"Ah!  do  not  laugh  at  him.  I  admire  his  simple  devotion;  but 
I  forgot  that  you  are  not  in  his  secret.  Did  he  tell  you  to  whom 
he  was  carrying  those  flowers?" 

She  grew  pale  and  then  red  as  she  spoke.  Engemann's  troubled 
look  had  changed,  his  blue  eyes  gleamed  with  anger.  Yes,  there 
could  be  no  mistake  about  the  expression  that  darkened  them. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say — "  he  began. 

Madame  Carouge  raised  her  eyebrows  slightly.  She  was  listening 
to  the  slam  of  the  doors  above,  and  the  footsteps  of  some  diners 
could  be  heard  coming  down  the  stone  staircase. 

"  I  will  tell  you  because  I  am  sure  you  are  discreet.  I  mean  that 
Monsieur  Loigerot  greatly  admires  this  poor  little  Marie,  and  has, 
in  short,  declared  his  wish  to  Madame  Bobineau  to  marry  her.  I 
need  hardly  say  that  the  young  person  is  very  glad  and  grateful. 
Surely  you  will  not  now  call  this  attention  of  the  captain's  ridicu- 
lous?—" 

"It  is  much  worse  than  ridiculous,  it  is  monstrous,"  Engemann 
said,  rudely  breaking  in  on  her  speech.  "Why,  he  is  old  enough 
to  be  her  father. " 

She  gave  him  such  a  pitying  smile. 

' '  That  is  how  it  looks  to  you  and  to  me,  but  it  is  not  surprising 
to  find  that  things  appear  quite  differently  when  viewed  under  a 
different  light.  I  could  tell  you,  monsieur,  how  a  young  girl  " — a 
buzz  of  voices  sounded  outside — "no,  not  now,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"It  is  plain,  however,  that  this  poor  little  shop-girl  does  not  feel 
the  disparity  of  age  as  we  might  feel  it ;  she  accepts  it  willingly ; 
she  does  not  think  our  friend  ridiculous,  I  assure  you.     You  should 


150  AT  THE    RED    GLOVE. 

have  seen  her  last  night;  she  looked  charming,  though,  indeed,  she 
had  not  a  word  for  any  one  but  her  admirer  ;  she  sat  beside  him, 
apart  from  us  all,  talking  and  laughing  all  the  evening.  It  was  de- 
lightful to  see  her  happiness." 

Rudolf  rose ;  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  answer.  He  heard 
steps  coming  nearer  and  nearer;  next  moment  the  round,  beaming 
face  of  Captain  Loigerot  appeared  in  the  door-way. 

"Congratulate  him," the  widow  whispered. 

"Not  now," he  answered,  in  the  same  tone;  "I  will  take  another 
opportunity.     Good-evening,  madame." 

He  nodded  to  Loigerot  and  passed  out  of  sight. 

"Well,  madame,  it  goes  well."  The  captain  was  rubbing  his 
hands,  and  looking  broader  and  more  beaming  than  ever.  Then, 
recollecting  himself:  "I  hope  you  have  recovered  from  last  night's 
fatigues,  madame." 

"Perfectly,  I  thank  you.  I  am  glad  you  have  prospered."  Then 
she  looked  over  his  head,  thankful  to  see  Moritz  in  advance  of  a 
tall,  high-nosed,  elderly  English  Mees,  who  looked  capable  of  walk- 
ing over  the  captain.  "Monsieur,"  said  Madame  Carouge,  "  I  will 
not  detain  you.     I  have  the  honor  of  wishing  you  good-evening." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  CAPTAm  TO  THE  KESCUE. 

Marie  had  been  so  used  to  sympathy,  that  if  Madame  Bobineau 
had  shown  her  any  affection  she  would  now  have  gone  to  her  for 
counsel ;  but  the  girl  was  so  young  and  inexperienced  that  she  had 
a  dread  of  ridicule,  and  she  had  not  been  long  enough  accustomed 
to  her  old  cousin's  repelling  ways  to  have  overcome  the  timidity 
they  had  created. 

Captain  Loigerot  had  returned  later,  and  had  chatted  pleasantly 
to  her  and  to  the  old  woman ;  but  when  he  took  his  leave  he  bent 
over  the  girl's  hand  and  kissed  it. 

At  this  Marie  had  grown  red  till  her  eyes  seemed  scorched  by  her 
flaming  cheeks ;  then  she  looked  at  Madame  Bobineau ;  but  she  had 
turned  her  back  and  was  following  the  captain  out  of  the  shop. 

She  stood  talking  to  him  on  the  door-step,  and  then  went  in  next 
door  to  pay  a  visit  to  her  friend  the  pastry-cook,  and  when  she  came 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  151 

in  she  presented  Marie  with  two  frosted  cakes,  which  she  said  the 
mistress  of  the  cake  shop  had  sent  her.  She  made  no  remarli  about 
the  packet  under  her  arm,  wliich  had  really  been  given  her  for  her 
"little  cousin."  Madame  Bobineau  considered  that  Marie  was  get- 
ting more  than  was  good  for  her — there  was  no  need  to  spoil  her.  She 
had  intended  to  give  the  girl  a  few  hints  with  regard  to  her  behav- 
ior towards  the  captain,  but  as  she  looked  in  Marie's  face  she 
changed  her  mind,  and  at  once  retreated  to  her  parlor. 

By  the  time  they  met  at  supper  the  girl  had  decided  not  to  confide 
her  vexation. 

"I  must  depend  on  myself,"  she  thought ;  "I  am  old  enough. 
After  all,  the  old  man  meant  no  harm.  It  is  only  because  no  one 
ever  kissed  my  hand  before  that  I  mind  so  much." 

But  next  morning  she  would  not  go  out  to  the  Muntz  Platz  to  gaze 
at  her  beloved  mountains,  she  so  feared  to  meet  the  captain  there. 

As  she  went  into  the  glove  shop,  the  flowers,  which  she  had  left, 
by  Madame  Bobineau's  advice,  on  the  counter,  seemed  at  once  to 
give  her  a  loving  welcome  and  to  reproach  her  for  her  ingratitude. 

She  wished  now  she  had  gone  out  to  look  at  the  mountains.  The 
morning  was  so  bright  and  clear  that  they  would  have  been  plainly 
visible.  She  dusted  her  counter  and  Madame  Bobineau's  desk  and 
the  shelves  and  boxes,  and  then  she  sat  down  and  enjoyed  the 
sight  of  her  nosegay.  Some  of  the  roses  had  opened  since  yester- 
day, and  were  yet  more  beautiful,  while  the  fragrance  and  the  color 
of  all  seemed  to  turn  the  dull  commonplace  shop  into  a  sort  of 
paradise. 

Marie  drew  one  half -opened  pink  rose  gently  from  the  rest,  and 
fastened  it  near  her  throat  so  that  she  could  smell  it.  She  did  not 
realize  the  sudden  brightening  it  gave  to  her  poor  brown  gown,  and 
bow  charmingly  it  matched  the  delicate  color  in  her  cheek. 

When  Madame  Bobineau  came  to  call  her  in  to  breakfast,  she  ex- 
claimed, loudly,  "How  beautiful  those  flowers  are  yet!  how  sweet 
they  smell!  Mercy,  Marie,  you  are  fortunate  ;  it  is  not  every  girl 
who  meets  with  such  attention ;  but  then  he  is  wealthy,  the  captain 
is,"  she  went  on,  as  she  saw  Marie  listening.  "  Such  a  gift  as  this 
is  nothing  to  him;  he  has  a  country  house,  and  a  garden,  and  an 
orchard,  and  an  olive-yard,  and  a  wood,  and  land  besides." 

"And  is  his  garden  near  Berne?"  Marie's  eyes  sparkled.  "Do 
you  think,  madame,"  she  went  on,  timidly,  "that  those  beautiful 
flowers  came  from  his  garden?" 


152  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

Madame  Bobineau  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  pushed  out  her 
lower  lip.  "You  little  simpleton!  Come  to  breakfast,"  she  said, 
in  so  derisive  a  tone  that  Marie  shrank  into  herself  with  conscious 
ignorance. 

As  soon  as  she  was  seated  at  breakfast,  Madame  Bobineau  went 
on,  with  her  mouth  full  of  bread:  "  Why,  child,  you  ought  to  learn 
the  value  of  things.  Such  flowers  as  you  have  there  are  not  grown 
out-of-doors ;  the  roses  may  be,  but  the  delicate  ones  come  from  a 
glass  house,  and  I'll  be  bound  the  carnations  grew  under  shelter. 
You  have  only  to  look  at  the  arrangement  of  the  nosegay  to  be  sure 
that  the  captain  paid  a  pretty  price  for  it— five  or  six  francs,  I'll 
wager.  You  did  not  thank  him  half  enough,"  she  said,  plunging 
her  spoon  into  a  brown-looking  mass,  which  she  called  pear  mar- 
malade, but  which  Marie  thought  tasted  like  furniture  polish ;  it 
was,  however,  reputed  wholesome,  and  it  saved  butter  and  honey, 
and  Marie  had  learned  by  this  time  that  she  was  expected  to  eat  it. 
She  did  not  answer  the  old  woman's  reproach ;  she  sat  trying  to 
decide  whether  she  had  been  wanting  in  gratitude  to  the  captain, 
for  she  was  not  disposed  to  take  Madame  Bobineau's  view  of  a 
subject. 

By  dinner-time  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  she  would 
not  thank  Captain  Loigerot  again,  but  that  she  would  be  extra  kind 
to  him  on  his  next  visit.  She  did  not  like  the  thought  that  he  had 
spent  so  much  money  ou  her,  but  it  was  extremely  kind  of  him  to 
have  tried  to  give  her  pleasure. 

No  one  came  this  afternoon  to  the  Red  Glove..  Marie  had  her 
flowers  to  look  at,  and  she  was  full  of  pleasant  anticipation,  for 
Madame  Bobineau  had  promised  to  take  her  to  -  morrow  to  the 
Schanzli.  That,  too,  would  be  a  pleasure  suggested  by  the  kind 
captain.  It  seemed  to  Marie  that  his  influence  must  have  had 
something  to  do  with  the  extraordinary  change  in  Madame  Bobi- 
neau's behavior.  She  was  certainly  not  lovable,  but  she  had  left 
off  scolding  and  saying  the  cruel,  bitter  things  which  had  at  first 
frozen  the  girl  into  a  dull  silence  foreign  to  her  nature.  Just  now 
the  old  woman  had  even  smiled  when  she  came  into  the  shop. 

"  Go  and  get  me  some  snuff  with  this,  there's  a  good  child,"  she 
said,  putting  some  money  into  Marie's  hand. 

Marie  went  out  and  bought  the  snuff  at  a  shop  not  far  from  the 
Red  Glove,  and  coming  back  she  wondered  whether  Monsieur  Enge- 
mann  would  go  to  the  Schanzli  to-morrow.     She  had  thought  of 


AT   THE    llED    GLOVE,  153 

Lim  all  day  yesterday.  She  decided  that  he  was  not  going  to  marry 
Madame  Carouge;  his  absence  from  the  soiree  had  convinced  her 
that  Madame  Bobineau  was  mistaken  about  this.  In  a  very  short 
time  the  girl  had  discovered  that  her  cousin  was  careless  about 
truth,  and  smilingly  she  told  herself  that  Madame  Bobineau  had 
got  up  this  little  deception  to  prevent  her  from  becoming  interest- 
ed in  her  young  lodger.  Certainly,  as  Marie  owned  to  herself,  the 
idea  that  he  was  going  to  marry  a  rich  woman  older  than  he  was 
had  chilled  the  strong  attraction  she  had  felt  towards  him  last  Sun- 
day at  the  Bear  Pit.  But  since  then  each  time  she  had  seen  him 
his  manner  had  been  kinder;  there  had  been  in  it  something  special, 
quite  different  from  the  manner  of  any  one  else,  and  certainly  she 
liked  him  better  than  any  one  she  had  ever  seen.  It  was  a  relief  to 
think  he  was  not  going  to  marry  the  rich  widow.  She  wished  to 
see  him  again. 

She  opened  the  shop  door  and  stood  still — it  seemed  as  if  her 
wish  had  created  its  fulfilment.  Monsieur  Engemann  was  standing 
beside  the  counter  looking  fixedly  at  the  captain's  nosegay. 

Marie's  heart  beat  quickly;  she  did  not  know  how  glad  her  face 
was;  in  truth,  her  heart  was  looking  out  at  her  eyes,  and  if  Rudolf 
had  not  been  blinded  by  jealous  anger  he  would  have  read  truth 
and  love,  too,  in  them.  But  he  was  beside  himself  with  anger,  and 
he  attributed  the  sweet,  glad  look  to  vanity,  a  mere  desire  to  attract. 
Madame  Carouge's  news  had  torn  a  veil  from  his  consciousness,  and 
in  a  moment  of  agony  he  had  learned  that  he  loved.  Never  before 
had  he  felt  towards  any  woman  what  he  now  felt  for  this  callous, 
mercenary  girl  who  was  going  to  sell  herself  to  Loigerot.  He  had 
felt  an  absolute  need  of  self-restraint,  and  had  scarcely  spoken  to 
any  one  all  day.  His  fellow-clerks  decided  that  the  widow  had 
given  him  the  sack,  and  that  the  disappointment  had  upset  his 
liver,  for  he  could  not  eat  his  breakfast,  and  he  looked  wretchedly 
ill.  At  last  reaction  came;  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  was  a  fool 
to  believe  in  the  report  of  others.  He  resolved  to  go  to  the  Red 
Glove  and  ask  Marie  if  she  really  had  promised  herself  to  the  cap- 
tain; but  while  he  stood  in  the  shop  waiting  for  her  his  resolve 
lost  its  firmness. 

By  what  right  could  he  ask  such  a  question  ?  He  had  given 
Marie  no  cause  to  suppose  he  loved  her — if,  indeed,  he  had  loved 
her  before  he  heard  this  news.  He  had  felt  without  owning  it  that 
she  understood  him,  and  it  was  his  faith  in  her  liking  for  him  that 


154  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

bad  made  it  so  impossible  for  him  to  believe  that  she  could  promise 
herself  to  Loigerot,  but  the  sight  of  the  nosegay  had  overwhelmed 
him. 

"I  have  the  honor  of  saj'ing  good-day,  mademoiselle;"  and  he 
pulled  off  his  hat  ceremoniously. 

Marie  wondered  he  did  not  shake  hands.  The  sudden  glow  that 
had  come  at  sight  of  him  turned  cold,  and  left  her  timid.  She  was 
conscious  of  a  change  in  him,  but  she  could  not  guess  at  its  cause. 
She  thought  the  best  way  would  be  to  ask  if  she  had  vexed  him. 
She  looked  up  at  him,  and  she  saw  that  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  her 
nosegay.  In  her  fear  she  uttered  the  worst  words  she  could  have 
chosen:  "Are  they  not  beautiful  flowers,  monsieur?"  She  looked 
conscious  and  shy  as  she  raised  the  vase  that  he  might  smell  the 
roses. 

' '  Beautiful !    Oh  yes. "   He  drew  away.    "  I  do  not  care  for  them. " 

He  walked  across  the  shop,  and  while  Marie  stood  pale  and  dis- 
concerted by  his  abruptness,  Madame  Bobineau  came  bustling  for- 
ward. Rudolf  did  not  see  her  at  first.  He  stood  battling  with  his 
anger;  in  his  heart  he  was  calling  Marie  an  artful  flirt,  no  better 
than  any  ordinary  shop-girl.  If  she  did  not  mean  to  encourage  the 
captain  she  would  not  cherish  his  gifts.  lie  longed  to  unmask  her, 
and  tell  her  what  he  thought  of  her  conduct.  Heavens !  now  he 
looked  again  he  saw  she  was  wearing  one  of  the  roses  at  her  throat! 

"Good-morning,  monsieur, "a  well-known  harsh  voice  said  at  his 
elbow.  "How  well  you  look  this  morning!  Do  you  think  we 
shall  have  a  fine  day  to-morrow,  monsieur  ?  I  hope  so,  for  I  am 
going  in  the  evening  to  the  Schiiuzli  with  Marie,  and  if  it  is  fine 
and  clear  we  shall  see  the  sun  set  on  the  Alps." 

"I  hope  the  weather  may  be  as  fine  as  you  wish,  madame." 
Engemann  did  not  look  at  Marie,  but  he  saw  that  she  was  bending 
over  the  obnoxious  nosegay  ;  her  face  was  actually  hidden  by  the 
blossoms.  "By  heavens!  she  is  kissing  those  flowers  under  my 
eyes!"  the  angry  young  fellow  said  to  himself. 

Really,  Marie  had  begun  to  cry  with  vexation ;  she  was  sure  now 
that  Monsieur  Engemann  was  angry  with  her,  and  she  should  never 
know  why;  she  had  lost  the  chance  of  an  explanation  with  him; 
he  would  go  away  still  angry  with  her.     She  felt  desperate. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  she  heard  Madame  Bobineau  say,  in  answer 
to  bis  wish  ;  "  but  I  think  you  also  have  a  special  reason  for  desir- 
ing a  fine  Sunday. " 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE,  155 

Marie  saw  how  slyly  the  old  woman  looked  at  Monsieur  Enge- 
mann. 

"I,  madame?  Oh  yes;  I  am  going  to  Thun  with  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Riesen." 

The  girl  again  bent  her  face  into  the  flowers,  and  listened  in- 
tently. 

Madame  Bobineau  laughed.  "Aha!  monsieur,  we  have  heard 
all  about  it:  we  know  who  else  is  going  to  Thun  with  you,  and  we 
wish  the  happy  pair  a  happy  day;  don't  we,  child?" 

Marie  looked  up,  puzzled,  while  Engemann,  moved  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  turned  and  gazed  at  her.  She  forced  a  smile.  "Yes," 
she  said,  simply.  "I  have  heard  that  Thun  is  a  beautiful  place;  is 
it  not,  monsieur?" 

Rudolf  asked  himself  what  she  meant  by  this. 

Madame  Bobineau  stood  fidgeting,  with  an  anxious  look  on  her 
face ;  then  she  moved  quickly  to  the  shop  door,  and  beckoned. 
She  had  seen  the  captain  pass  the  shop,  and  she  guessed  that  he 
would  go  up  to  his  rooms  before  he  presented  himself.  "Come  in, 
monsieur,"  she  said;  "you  are  wanted." 

It  seemed  to  the  mistress  of  the  Red  Glove  that  Monsieur  Enge- 
mann looked  at  Marie  in  a  way  she  had  not  expected,  and  that  the 
captain's  presence  at  such  a  juncture  would  put  matters  on  a  right 
footing. 

Meantime  Monsieur  Engemann  answered  the  girl's  question. 

"  Yes,  mademoiselle,  the  lake  is  beautiful. "  His  voice  was  hoarse, 
and  he  stopped  to  clear  his  throat  before  he  went  on  speaking ;  then 
he  looked  at  the  nosegay.  "I  wish  you  happiness  also," he  said, 
bitterly.     ' '  You  love  flowers,  I  see. " 

His  tone  frightened  her  again. 

"Why  is  he  so  angry?"  she  thought;  then,  in  a  timid  voice, 
"Monsieur,  I — " 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  just  as  Madame  Bobineau  came  back, 
with  the  captain  at  her  heels. 

Loigerot  bowed  all  round  ;  then  he  went  and  stood  between  his 
tall  friend  and  Marie,  and  the  girl  felt  that  her  last  hope  was  over. 
A  sudden  feeling  of  dislike  made  her  turn  away  from  the  captain, 
but  Engemann  judged  that  this  was  confusion  at  the  sight  of  her 
lover. 

"Aha,  my  friend,"  the  captain  said,  smiling,  "I  have  heard  news 
about  you;  I  congratulate  you."    He  shook  his  head,  and  tried  to 


156  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

look  roguish.  ' '  I  hope  you  and  your  charming  widow  will  have 
a  fine  day  at  Thun  to-morrow.  You  are  a  lucky  fellow.  Morbleu  ! 
you  have  thrown  double-sixes."  He  laughed  slowly.  Then  he 
edged  himself  closer,  and  said,  in  a  lower  voice:  "And  I  too— am 
/  not  a  lucky  fellow  ?    Do  you  not  congratulate  me,  my  friend?" 

He  pointed  to  Marie,  and  laid  his  finger  on  his  coarse  mustache. 

"Nonsense!  nonsense!"  Engemann  pushed  past  him  impatient- 
ly, and  went  out  of  the  shop,  while  Marie  stood  pressing  one  hand 
on  her  heart.  She  felt  bewildered;  she  could  not  understand  the 
meaning  of  the  talk  she  had  heard,  unless,  indeed,  it  meant  that 
Madame  Bobineau  had  been  right  after  all. 

The  captain  laughed  loudly. 

"  He's  off  like  a  shell,  madame.  Well,  well,  he  can't  stand  a  joke. 
I  knew  fast  enough  what  all  those  private  talks  over  JIadame  Ca- 
rouge's  desk  would  end  in.  But  it  will  be  an  excellent  marriage; 
he  and  our  beautiful  widow  will  make  a  fine  couple. " 

Marie  stood  violently  trembling.  She  could  not  tell  what  ailed 
her,  but  she  longed  to  run  away  and  hide  herself.  She  scarcely 
heard  Madame  Bobineau  say, 

"  Yes,  they  are  well  matched— could  not  be  better." 

The  captain  walked  across  the  shop,  his  hands  stuffed  into  his 
pockets,  while  Madame  Bobineau  regaled  herself  with  a  huge  pinch 
of  snuff. 

Loigerot  went  on:  "I  have  had  my  suspicions  for  some  time  past. 
I  have  always  had  a  keen  eye  for  this  sort  of  thing,  a  sort  of  instinct, 
I  may  say.  Well,  he's  a  worthy  young  fellow,  and  he  will  make  a 
devoted  husband;  and  she  is  rich  and  handsome.  Does  not  made- 
moiselle consider  Madame  Carouge  handsome?" 

He  went  up  to  Marie. 

Her  eyes  were  wild  as  she  looked  at  him.  "  I— oh  yes,  monsieur, 
I  think  so."  "  If  he  would  only  go!"  she  thought,  desperately.  "I 
must  run  away  if  he  stands  there  staring  at  me.  I  don't  like  him 
half  as  well  as  I  did  at  the  party." 

The  captain  turned  pompously  to  Madame  Bobineau. 

"May  I  be  permitted,"  he  said,  gravely,  "to  salute  mademoi- 
selle?" 

The  old  woman  nodded  and  smiled,  but  she  answered,  in  a 
whisper, 

"  Only  her  hand.  She  is  not  very  well  to-day,  but  take  no  no- 
tice." 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  157 

He  went  up  to  Marie  and  took  her  hand.  As  he  bent  his  head 
to  it  she  pulled  it  away. 

He  looked  at  her;  then  he  gave  her  an  adoring  smile.  "Sweet 
and  shy,  like  a  dove,"  he  murmured.     "Ah,  she  is  an  angel!" 

Then  he  went  back  to  Madame  Bobineau,  while  the  girl  said  to 
herself,  "  What  does  it  all  mean? — oh,  what  does  it  mean?" 

"Madame" — the  captain  spoke  in  his  most  pompous  manner — 
' '  I  believe  the  correct  thing  is  for  me  to  attend  you  and  mademoi- 
selle to  high  mass  to-morrow.  I — aw — propose  to  myself  to  call, 
in  order  to  escort  you.  Au  revoir,  madame,  et  mademoiselle,  a  de- 
main." 

He  made  many  bows,  and  then,  kissing  his  fingers  to  Marie,  he 
departed. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 


There  was  no  mistake  about  the  sunshine.  It  blazed  down 
with  an  intense,  scorching  radiance.  It  was  now  about  ten  o'clock, 
so  one  could  give  a  tolerably  correct  guess  as  to  the  sun's  power  a 
few  hours  later.  The  arcades  in  front  of  the  houses  partly  baffled 
it,  but  through  the  openings  it  shone  fiercely  on  every  person  and 
thing  that  came  in  its  way.  The  atmosphere  throbbed  with  the 
force  of  its  rays;  they  seemed  to  rejoice  the  broad  face  of  the  clock 
on  the  old  tower  beside  the  hotel ;  the  gilt  hand  on  the  dial  glittered ; 
the  red  ogre  on  the  Kindlifressen  Fountain  looked  ruddier  than 
ever,  and  the  water  in  the  basin  below  him  felt  tepid. 

At  this  moment  Monsieur  and  Madame  Riesen  emerged  from  the 
arcade  on  the  same  side  as  the  Hotel  Beauregard;  they  actually 
ran  across  the  open  space  which  intervened,  to  escape  the  scorch- 
ing heat,  for  though  each  of  them  carried  a  brown  hoUand  green- 
lined  sun-shade,  they  had  neglected  to  open  these. 

"  Mein  Gott!" — Riesen  stopped  to  wipe  his  face — "this  is  too 
much ;  if  there  were  not  an  awning  to  the  boat,  we  could  not  vent- 
ure on  the  lake  to-day.  Aha!  good-morning,  Monsieur  Engemann. 
Am  I  not  a  true  prophet?    Is  the  day  fine  enough  to  please  you?" 

Engemann  nodded  and  smiled,  and  then  he  greeted  Madame 
Riesen. 

"So  glad  to  see  you!"    Her  dull,  flat  face  was  full  of  effusive 


158  AT   TUB    RED    GLOVE. 

politeness  as  she  shook  hands.  To  herself,  as  she  led  the  way  into 
the  hotel  and  up  the  stairs,  she  was  saying,  "Poor  young  fellow!  a 
regular  victim  to  that  vain  widow ;  and  she'll  get  tired  of  him :  as 
soon  as  they  are  married  she'll  want  a  fresh  admirer — that  she  will: 
I  know  her. " 

Looking  up,  she  saw  her  hostess  standing  at  the  open  door  of  the 
salle  d  manger,  and  instantly  the  most  adoring  smile  spread  over 
her  face. 

"How  charming  you  look,  dear  Madame  Carouge!"  she  said. 

And  it  was  true ;  Madame  Carouge  looked  more  than  usually  at- 
tractive. She  wore  a  large  black  hat  which  threw  a  shadow  over 
her  face,  and  gave  it  a  bewitching  charm. 

The  salle  at  this  hour  was  vacant ;  visitors  breakfasted  either  in 
their  rooms  or  in  the  breakfast-room  below,  and  Madame  Carouge 
led  the  way  to  the  coolest  corner  of  the  long  room.  Here  was  a 
round  table  spread  for  four,  and  crowned  with  a  glowing  pyramid 
of  peaches  and  grapes. 

Riesen's  grave  face  beamed  and  he  licked  his  colorless  lips. 

"I  believe,  my  friends" — he  looked  at  the  widow — "I  may  call 
myself  the  commander  of  this  expedition,  and  I  give  you  all  notice 
that  if  we  mean  to  travel  by  the  eleven-o'clock  train  we  have  no 
time  to  spare;  we  must  not  talk  while  we  eat." 

"Do  but  listen  to  Eugene,"  his  wife  said,  mockingly,  "and  he  is 
the  one  who  is  sure  to  talk  with  his  mouth  full.  I  tell  him  he  will 
choke  himself  some  day." 

The  clockmaker  might  have  spared  his  warning.  Neither  Madame 
Carouge  nor  Rudolf  Engemann  was  inclined  to  talk.  The  wid- 
ow's thoughts  were  full  of  words  which  she  fully  hoped  to  speak 
by-and-by.  If  she  did  not  speak  them,  life  would  be  very  dreary, 
empty  of  the  hope  tliat  had  kept  her  thoughts  fixed  on  this  day. 
She  had  so  longed  for  it  to  come,  and  now  it  was  here,  and  she  and 
Rudolf  Engemann  were  to  spend  it  together. 

Her  blood  ran  riotously  through  her  veins;  a  rich  color  glowed  on 
her  cheeks;  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to  talk.  Her  guests  were 
drinking  champagne,  but  she  scarcely  sipped  at  the  glass  which 
Moritz  had  filled  for  her.  She  could  have  laughed  for  joy.  But 
this  was  only  a  part  of  her  mood ;  it  was  as  varied  as  the  effect  of 
the  sunshine  on  the  arcades,  and  the  spaces  between  them.  What 
if  the  day  proved  a  failure !  —  if  Rudolf  Engemann  only  cared  for 
its  enjoyment  as  a  holiday,  not  because  it  involved  companionship 


AT  THE    RED   GLOVE.  159 

with  her!  Perhaps  she  looked  most  beautiful  in  this  part  of  her 
mood,  full  of  pensive  grace,  her  dark  eyes  veiled  by  the  long  up- 
curving  lushes.  She  was  too  much  absorbed  to  wonder  at  Enge- 
mann's  silence,  which  was  attributed  by  the  observing  clockmaker 
and  his  wife  to  the  young  fellow's  wish  to  enjoy  his  excellent 
breakfast. 

Engemann  ate  and  drank  like  a  machine.  His  ideas  were  still  in 
the  confused  state  which  had  followed  his  sudden  enlightenment 
about  Marie.  Besides  the  pain  which  Madame  Carouge  had  inflict- 
ed last  night,  he  had  suffered  another  shock.  Over  and  over  again 
he  had  sternly  asked  himself  what  he  meant  by  being  such  a  fool, 
and  the  only  clear  idea  that  manifested  itself,  in  the  sort  of  mental 
chaos  which  had  settled  on  him  like  a  pall,  was  that  he  loved  this 
trifling,  shallow  girl,  and  that  her  image  would  haunt  his  life. 

Like  many  another  man  who  perceives  slowly  and  feels  strongly, 
Rudolf  had  been  utterly  blind  and  unconscious  while  the  poison  or 
magic  —  call  it  which  you  please  —  had  been  quietly  and  surely 
doing  its  work.  Too  simple  to  indulge  in  self-study,  he  had  not 
guessed  at  his  power  of  winning  love.  Even  the  assurances  he  had 
received  from  others  that  he  could  win  the  widow  if  he  chose  had 
never  dwelt  in  his  mind.  So  far  as  regarded  himself,  love  had  not 
presented  itself  objectively.  He  had  considered  marriage  for  him 
impossible ;  a  girl  suited  to  him  as  a  companion  would  not  relish 
the  narrow  life  he  could  ask  her  to  share  on  his  present  meagre  sal- 
ary. And  when  he  had  once  thought  this  out,  he  had  put  the  idea 
away,  and  had  resolved  to  concentrate  all  his  powers  on  becoming 
a  good  man  of  business. 

(  Perhaps  no  one  quality  or  feeling  has  been  as  much  written  about 
in  poetry  and  prose  as  love  has,  and  yet,  after  all,  no  one  has  ever 
explained  it,  or  has  succeeded  in  defining  its  rise  and  progress.  It 
remains  a  perplexing  mystery— lawless  and  yet  perfect;  unreason- 
able and  capricious  in  its  manifestation ;  yet  when  it  is  real  and 
true,  partaking  of  the  same  divine  origin  as  genius,  for  true  love  can 
only  be  quenched  by  death.;,  The  best  solution  seems  to  be  found 
in  the  fabled  love  phiher;  and  to  Rudolf  and  Marie,  in  different 
degrees,  it  seemed  as  if  a  power  beyond  the  influence  of  their  own 
will  had  taken  them  suddenly  captive;  in  one  moment  the  true 
meaning  of  the  attraction  each  had  felt  for  the  other  had  been  re- 
vealed. 

The  discovery  affected  them  differently.     The  girl  was  cast  down 


160  AT   THE   RED   GLOVE. 

with  shame  and  sorrow  at  discovering  that  she  loved  a  man  who  be- 
longed to  another  woman.  Engemann's  feelings  were  far  more 
complex.  Loigerot's  noisy  congratulations  had  fallen  on  deaf  ears 
— he  had  heard,  but  he  had  not  grasped  the  meaning  of  the  words. 
The  terrible  truth  about  Marie  had  stunned  him,  confirming  what 
he  had  persuaded  himself  was  only  rumor  and  the  mistaken  kind- 
ness of  Madame  Carouge. 

What  a  fool  he  had  been !  While  he  had  suffered  himself  to  be 
led  on  by  this  miserable  girl  to  believe  in  her  simplicity  and  candor, 
she  had  been  thinking  how  to  get  married  as  soon  as  she  could,  to 
free  herself  from  her  position  at  the  Red  Glove;  and  probably  she 
had  used  him  as  a  bait.  He  remembered  that  Wengern  had  said, 
one  day,  "  You  are  sweet  on  Bobineau's  shop-girl."  They  had  all 
seen  it  and  known  it,  then,  and  he  had  been  a  blind  idiot;  Marie  had 
seen  it  from  the  first,  and  then  when  she  knew  that  he  was  aware  of 
her  treachery,  she  had  affected  sorrow. 

He  had  resolved  last  night  never  to  think  of  Marie  again  .  .  .  and 
now  he  turned  as  if  he  was  stung,  and  looked  up  as  if  he  hoped  to 
get  distraction  from  his  companions. 

There  was  a  salon  through  the  folding-doors  at  the  end  of  the 
dining-room,  and  the  two  ladies  had  gone  there,  and  they  stood  be- 
fore one  of  the  long  mirrors  giving  themselves  a  final  look. 

Riesen's  face  was  purple  as  the  young  fellow  looked  up,  for  he  had 
nearly  swallowed  a  stone  in  his  effort  to  eat  as  many  peaches  as  pos- 
sible while  the  ladies  were  away.  He  patted  Engemann's  shoulder 
as  he  recovered  himself. 

"I  give  you  free  leave  to  talk  now,  my  friend;  you  have  been  very 
obedient.  It  has  been  an  excellent  breakfast.  Will  you  conduct 
Madame  Riesen  to  the  railway-station?  I  am  not  going  to  interfere, 
you  know  " — he  looked  at  the  young  fellow,  and  half  closed  his  deep- 
set  eyes — ' '  oh  dear,  no ;  but  I  have  to  receive  my  instructions  from 
madame  for  the  day's  programme." 

Engemann  turned  away  to  hide  his  annoyance.  He  did  not  choose 
to  be  joked  about  Madame  Carouge.  But  Madame  Riesen  kept  up 
such  a  series  of  questions  as  they  walked  to  the  station  that  she  left 
him  no  time  to  think;  he  had  to  fix  his  attention  so  as  to  answer 
correctly. 

There  was  some  unnecessary  fuss  about  taking  the  tickets  and  dis- 
tributing them,  a  good  deal  of  noise  from  the  engine,  and  then  they 
rolled  quietly  out  of  Berne  in  a  small  compartment  of  a  railway-car- 


AT    THE    RED    GLOVE,  161 

riage,  with  only  room  for  four  passengers,  two  on  each  side  of  the 
way  left  for  the  conductor  to  pass  vip  and  down. 

Engemann  sat  beside  Madame  Carouge,  but  at  first  it  was  not  easy 
to  talk ;  there  was  too  much  noise.  She  was  so  happy  that  the  si- 
lence suited  her.  She  wanted  to  enjoy  the  bliss  of  being  beside  him, 
alone  with  him;  for  they  were  out  of  earshot  of  their  companions. 

He  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  she  looked  at  him.  How  noble 
his  face  was!  she  thought;  how  full  of  truth  and  manliness!  what 
bliss  it  would  be  to  go  through  life  with  him,  his  willing  slave!  for 
in  his  presence  she  seemed  to  have  no  will,  scarcely  a  separate  ex- 
istence ;  what  he  willed  she  felt  must  be  her  law. 

She  was  glad  that  the  young  fellow  did  not  turn  round  at  that 
moment,  for  she  felt  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  love,  and  she  shrank 
from  seeming  to  seek  him.  His  manner  yesterday  had  troubled  her, 
but  Madame  Carouge  had  some  insight  into  a  man's  heart. 

Something  told  her  that  Rudolf  Engemann  was  far  too  proud  to 
go  on  caring  for  a  girl  who  had  thrown  him  over  for  Captain  Loi- 
gerot;  it  was  also  more  than  possible  that  Rudolf  had  never  really 
cared  for  Marie,  but  merely  resented  the  idea  of  the  match  because 
the  girl  was  so  youug. 

"He  looks  too  true  to  be  double-faced,"  she  thought;  every  mo- 
ment of  this  glowing,  rose-tinted  mood  was  lessening  her  doubts. 
"I  have  more  than  once  seen  his  eyes  full  of  admiration  for  me." 

Just  then  he  spoke. 

"  Look,  madame." 

He  put  his  head  out  of  the  window,  and  she  leaned  out  too ;  the 
train  had  reached  the  suspension-bridge  high  above  the  swift  blue- 
green  Aar.  There  was  the  river  far  below  them,  rushing  on  be- 
tween lofty  grassed  banks  fringed  with  alleys  of  poplars;  some 
women  were  hanging  clothes  to  dry  on  a  line  that  reached  from  tree 
to  tree,  and  the  linen  gleamed  in  the  sunshine  that  gilded  the  river. 
In  the  stream  were  carts  drawn  by  powerful-looking  horses;  men, 
with  huge  boots  reaching  to  their  middle,  were  shovelling  stones 
from  the  river-bed  into  the  carts.  The  houses  and  churches  of 
Berne  showed  pleasantly  among  the  tall  trees  on  the  top  of  the  right 
bank.  As  the  eye  travelled  on  beyond  the  blue-green  river,  it  stop- 
ped at  a  line  of  dazzling  silver  in  the  sky.  The  giant  snow-moun- 
tains for  once  showed  themselves  without  a  cloud  to  break  the 
magnificent  outline  of  their  range;  the  delicate  shadows  that  lay  on 
them  here  and  there  only  served  to  add  intensity  to  their  silvery 

7 


163  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

lustre,  but  these  shadows  were  as  full  of  color  as  if  reflected  from  a 
rainbow. 

"Ah!" 

And  then  a  deep  sigh  came  unconsciously  from  Engemann. 

Madame  Carouge  had  not  spoken;  she  was  too  happy  in  the  one- 
ness which  this  silent  gaze  at  the  scene  had  created.  The  wind 
which  ruffled  the  hair  on  her  forehead  brought  Engemann's  deep 
breathing  to  her  cheek.  She  was  looking  her  delight  and  admira- 
tion, but  his  sigh  made  her  forget  self ;  it  gave  her  the  key  she  had 
been  seeking.  Till  now  there  had  been  a  barrier  fencing  her  off 
from  access  to  his  feelings ;  it  seemed  to  her,  as  his  handsome  blue 
eyes  grew  almost  black  at  the  glorious  spectacle  of  mountain  and 
river,  that  she  could  see  the  heart-stir  of  which  it  was  the  manifesta- 
tion :  he  worshipped  the  beautiful. 

She  closed  her  eyes  softly,  for  big  tears  sprang  into  them  as  the 
thought  came.     At  last  her  happiness  was  near. 

When  she  looked  again,  the  dazzling  vision  had  disappeared.  She 
drew  in  her  head  and  sat  down.  There  was  another  peep  as  they 
passed  the  Schanzli,  and  then  the  mountains  vanished. 

Madame  Riesen's  cackle  made  itself  heard  from  time  to  time,  but 
the  widow  and  her  companion  were  silent. 

At  last  she  turned  to  him.  "You  have  climbed  some  of  those 
mountains,  have  you  not,  monsieur?  you  Swiss  are  so  brave  and  ad- 
venturous." 

"I  have  only  been  up  the  Moleson,  our  big  mountain  near  Fri- 
bourg,  but  it  is  not  much  of  a  climb.  No,  madame ;  my  life  has 
been  very  tame  and  commonplace." 

"Ah,  but " — her  eyes  glowed  with  admiration — "I  am  sure  it  has 
been  more  stirring  than  mine  has  been  :  I  have  lived  like  a  caged 
bird." 

' '  Really?"  he  looked  at  her  with  interest  and  astonishment.  Sure- 
ly this  beautiful,  self-possessed  woman  must  have  seen  more  of  the 
world  than  he  had.  Just  now  her  face  was  so  full  of  varied  expres- 
sion, Rudolf  felt  as  if  he  were  reading  a  story  in  it.  "  Should  you 
like  to  travel?"  he  said.  He  began  to  feel  that  it  was  very  soothing 
to  his  sore,  perplexed  feelings  to  bask  in  the  sunshine  her  beautiful 
eyes  were  shedding  on  his  face — sunshine  without  any  bitterness  to 
turn  it  into  delusive  mockery. 

"If  travelling  would  be  like  this  journey,  then  I  should  indeed 
love  it — "    She  checked  herself,  and  added  quickly:  "I  mean  that 


AT  THE   RED   GLOVE.  103 

to-day  is  such  perfect  holiday,  such  a  change  from  my  usual  life.  I 
have  no  fear  that  Moritz  will  come  to  me  with  a  grave  face  to  say 
that  the  chef  is  ill,  or  else  that  good  bedrooms  are  wanted  at  once, 
and  that  not  one  is  vacant.  Ah,  inon  Dieu !"  she  laughed  gayly. 
"Pardon  me;  but  you  see  the  bird  is  out  of  the  cage  to-day,  mon- 
sieur, so  you  must  expect  me  to  be  a  little  wild." 

"  You  will  always  be  charming."  He  could  not  help  saying  this. 
She  looked  radiant  with  happiness;  it  shone  in  her  eyes  and  glowed 
on  her  lips  and  cheeks.  "I  suppose  travelling  must  be  delightful," 
he  went  on,  "  or  people  would  not  travel  as  they  do  for  pleasure." 

Then  they  drifted  into  silence  again.  But  Rudolf  felt  still  more 
soothed ;  he  began  to  look  forward  to  their  arrival  at  Thun ;  and  it 
was  a  relief  to  be  able  to  keep  his  thoughts  away  from  Marie. 

Monsieur  Riesen  had  strained  his  ears  to  listen  to  their  talk,  but 
he  had  not  succeeded  in  hearing  a  sentence.  He  had  given  his  wife 
captious  or  cynical  answers,  and  she  was  dumb  now ;  she  felt  vexed 
with  his  unkindness.  The  poor  woman  too  well  knew  that  he  pre- 
ferred to  look  at  the  beautiful  widow,  and  that  she  was  a  bore  to  him 
this  morning,  and  this  is  not  a  pleasant  sensation  for  a  wife  con- 
scious that  she  has  always  been  plain,  and  has  lost  even  the  charm 
of  youth. 

At  last  Riesen's  impatience  broke  loose.  "  Look  out,  Monsieur 
Engemann;  this  is  the  finest  point,  and  you  are  missing  it  all." 

For  as  they  sat  with  their  backs  to  the  engine,  the  beauty  of  the 
near  approach  to  Thun  was  lost  on  them. 

Rudolf  and  Madame  Carouge  leaned  out  the  window  together, 
and  a  cry  of  admiration  broke  from  them  at  the  grand  view  of  the 
mountains  on  either  side.  He  turned  to  her,  but  she  went  on  gaz- 
ing. The  keen  air  from  the  mountains  ruffled  her  hair  and  deepened 
the  rich  nectarine-like  tint  on  her  cheeks,  while  her  glowing  dark 
eyes  were  half  veiled  by  their  long  lashes.  As  the  young  fellow 
gazed  at  her  with  admiration,  he  thought  how  perfectly  her  sombre, 
graceful  dress  suited  her  brilliant  beauty. 

"  You  have  been  here  before?"  She  raised  her  eyes  suddenly  and 
met  his  admiring  gaze. 

"  Only  once  " — he  put  up  his  hand  to  keep  his  hat  from  being  car- 
ried off  by  the  wind — "but  the  day  was  cloudy.  And  you,  have 
you  ever  seen  this  view  ?" 

"Yes" — a  sad  expression  filled  her  eyes,  and  they  drooped — "I 
came  once  with  my  husband.     I  do  not  care  to  recall  that  journey." 


164  AT  THE    KED   GLOVE. 

Her  voice  sounded  pathetic. 

"Ah!" 

Engemann  did  not  know  what  to  say.  He  went  on  looking  at 
the  mountains,  but  he  thought  of  Madame  Carouge.  He  wondered 
if  she  had  loved  this  husband.  He  supposed  she  had,  or  she  would 
not  be  sad  in  speaking  of  time  spent  with  him ;  and  then  he  remem- 
bered that  Monsieur  Carouge  had  been  dead  only  a  year  and  a  half. 
"She  does  not  look  like  a  mourner,"  he  thought,  as  his  eyes  fol- 
lowed the  lines  of  her  elegant  dress. 

It  was  very  pleasant  to  him  to  look  at  her;  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  beside  her  he  was  drifting  away  from  the  sadness  that  had  op- 
pressed him.  It  was  not  conquered;  he  felt  dimly  that  it  lay  in 
ambush  ready  to  attack  him,  and  that  something  in  his  beautiful 
companion  shielded  him  from  the  grasp  it  was  ready  to  lay  on  him ; 
but  Rudolf  only  apprehended  this  mistily ;  he  had  not  yet  recovered 
from  the  shock  he  had  sustained.  This  exquisite  relief  had  come 
to  him  without  any  mental  effort  to  seek  it,  and  the  strange  power 
there  lies  in  sympathy  had  cast  its  spell  over  him.  It  was  flattering 
to  find  that  Madame  Carouge  saw  everything  as  he  did,  and  he  ac- 
cepted this  oneness  of  taste  in  good  faith. 

They  were  both  very  sorry  when  the  train  stopped  at  Thun. 

Riesen  would  not  let  them  pause  to  gaze  at  the  snow-mountains 
from  the  platform,  and  they  walked  up  the  road  from  the  station 
four  abreast,  admiring  the  charming  little  town.  Soon  they  came 
to  the  bridge.  The  blue-green  Aar  made  a  deafening  noise  as  it 
rushed  over  a  weir  beneath  another  quaint  covered  bridge.  This 
bridge  crossed  an  arm  of  the  river,  and  circling  round  the  houses 
on  this  side,  made  a  little  island.  Chief  among  these  houses  was 
a  large  square  building,  an  inn  arcaded  on  the  lower  story,  and  with 
an  open  court-yard  within. 

The  high  roof  was  crowned  with  a  clock  and  belfry.  On  the  left, 
quaint  houses  bordered  the  river  on  both  sides.  Some  of  the  eaves 
projected  like  hoods  over  the  tiers  of  balconies  below.  The  win- 
dow-sills were  gay  with  flowers;  the  sunshine  glittered  on  every- 
thing— on  the  white  and  yellow  fronts  of  the  houses,  rising  one  be- 
hind another  till  they  reached  the  summit  of  the  steep  hill;  on  the 
striped  white  and  orange  blinds ;  on  the  children  at  play  on  the  bal- 
conies. Amid  a  group  of  dark  trees  showed  out  vividly  the  old 
castle  of  the  lords  of  Zahringen,  with  its  square-centred  red-roofed 
tower  surrounded  by  tourelles  ;  a  little  way  nearer,  nestling  in  its 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  165 

luxuriant  church-yard,  was  the  pointed  red  spire  and  eight-sided 
tower  of  the  church. 

They  crossed  the  bridge,  and  as  they  turned  into  the  High  Street, 
Riesen  dexterously  contrived  to  place  himself  beside  Madame  Ca- 
rouge,  and  Engemann  fell  back  with  Madame  Riesen.  The  young 
fellow  felt  in  spirits  now  to  enjoy  the  view  of  the  gayly  colored, 
picturesque  place.  The  broad,  projecting  eaves  of  the  tall  houses 
cast  a  pleasant  shade  over  the  house  fronts  and  their  bright  orange 
window-blinds;  they  also  sheltered  the  footway  raised  to  the  first 
story  on  each  side  of  the  street.  This  footway  was  bordered  with 
flowers  and  tall  shrubs,  which  seemed  to  be  straining  over  the  edge 
to  get  all  possible  light  and  heat.  Now  and  then  the  sunshine 
glinted  on  the  wares  set  outside  the  shop  fronts  on  the  raised  foot- 
way. The  shops  below,  on  a  level  with  the  street  itself,  were  of  an 
inferior  kind,  and  many  of  them  looked  dingy,  for  they  were  the 
cellars  and  warehouses  of  the  gayer  shops  on  the  footway  over- 
head. 

Riesen  pronounced  that  it  was  much  easier  to  descend  steps  than 
to  climb  them ;  so  he  led  the  way  to  the  end  of  the  street,  and  then, 
turning  to  the  right,  conducted  his  party  up  a  gradual  slope  behind 
the  old  castle  till  they  reached  the  church-yard.  Here  Madame 
Carouge  turned  away  from  the  clockmaker  with  a  pettish  excla- 
mation. 

"  I  am  tired  already,"  she  said.  "You  have  no  mercy,  Monsieur 
Riesen."  Then  she  looked  sweetly  at  Rudolf.  "  You  are  tired  too, 
I  am  sure  of  it;  come  and  rest  in  this  summer-house. " 

And  Rudolf  Engemann  placed  himself  beside  her. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A   HARD  FIGHT. 

That  perception  or  power  of  appreciation  set  forth  in  the  old  say- 
ing "  Eyes  and  no  eyes"  is  surely  not  a  purely  mental  quality;  the 
feelings  play  their  part  in  it,  and  when  these  are  adverse  to  enjoy- 
ment, or  weighted  by  some  fear,  they  dull  all  power  of  receptivity, 
and  oiter  no  surface  for  outside  objects  to  mirror  in.  They  are  as 
unimpressionable  as  would  be  an  unprepared  glass  offered  by  a  pho- 
tographer to  the  sun  to  paint  on;  for,  owing  to  its  unprepared  con- 
dition, he  can  make  no  abiding  impression  thereon. 


166  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

Marie  felt  the  warmth  of  the  sunshine  this  morning  as  she  came 
to  the  Red  Glove  for  breakfast,  but  she  had  no  ej-es  for  the  light 
and  shade,  and  the  glow  of  the  flowers  in  the  balconies  of  the 
Hotel  Beauregard,  or  the  sparkle  on  the  fountains  and  on  every 
salient  object  to  which  the  glowing  light  was  wishing  a  good- 
morning. 

Last  night  Madame  Bobineau  had  parried  her  questions,  and  the 
girl  had  become  angry,  carried  away  by  the  overwrought  feeling 
produced  by  the  scene  in  the  glove  shop.  Then,  ashamed  and 
alarmed  at  her  own  agitation,  she  burst  into  a  fit  of  crying.  She 
said  she  could  not  eat  any  supper,  and  the  old  woman  wisely  let  her 
go  home  without  remonstrance. 

It  seems  as  if  all  temperaments  have  their  special  uses  in  the  great 
drama  called  human  life.  We  have  been  inclined,  perhaps  former- 
ly more  than  at  present,  to  overestimate  a  warm  heart  as  compared 
with  a  cold  one;  yet  there  are  cases  when  a  cold  temperament  is 
very  useful.  It  may  even  be  said  that  there  are  phases  in  the  life 
of  each  individual  when  it  is  far  pleasanter  and  less  irritating  to  be 
treated  coldly  than  sympathetically. 

If  Marie  had  been  tenderly  questioned  when  Captain  Loigerot  left 
the  Red  Glove,  she  would  have  probably  lost  all  self-control,  and 
have  flung  vehemently  away  from  such  a  well  -  meant  attempt  at 
consolation.  Madame  Bobineau's  phlegm  and  seeming  indifference 
to  her  tears  roused  the  girl's  pride.  She  felt  that  she  should  lower 
herself  in  her  cousin's  opinion  if  she  betrayed  feelings  which  the 
old  woman  could  not  understand,  and  Marie  accepted  her  cousin's 
silence  as  ignorance  of  the  captain's  admiration,  and  tried  to  turn 
away  from  the  sudden  suspicion  which  his  words  had  aroused, 
though  she  could  not  shake  oflf  the  sorrow  which  had  struck  her 
down.  But  the  calming  influence  which  this  belief  in  Madame  Bo- 
bineau's ignorance  had  exercised  on  the  girl's  excitement  of  misery 
did  not  last  through  breakfast  this  morning. 

When  she  reached  the  Red  Glove  its  mistress  was  actually  smil- 
ing. She  kissed  Marie,  and  remarked  on  the  fineness  of  the  morn- 
ing; then  she  bustled  forward  into  the  kitchen,  and  gave  the  girl  a 
triumphant  glance  as  she  saw  her  looking  at  the  table,  for  there 
Marie  beheld  an  unusual  sight.  Over  the  edge  of  a  white  compo- 
tier  hung  purple  and  white  grapes,  and  these  supported  a  glowing 
crown  of  peaches  and  nectarines. 

"See  "—Madame  Bobineau  licked  her  thin  lips— " how  kind  and 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  167 

thouglitf  111  is  Madame  Carouge.     In  the  midst  of  her  own  happi- 
ness she  does  not  forget  others.     She  is  truly  a  friend." 

Marie  kept  her  face  calm,  but  her  heart  ached  dully,  and  it  seemed 
to  her  that  this  was  a  pain  that  might  go  on  forever.  She  must  hide 
it,  too,  from  all,  even  from  her  sympathizing  friends  at  St.  Esprit. 
She  no  longer  wished  to  return  there ;  how  could  she  own  to  those 
pure,  saintly  women  that  she  loved  some  one  who  did  not  love  her. 
"Even  that  would  be  boldness,"  poor  Marie  thought.  Her  cheeks 
flamed  as  she  went  on  thinking  what  would  the  sweet,  kind  Supe- 
rior say  of  her  "  little  girl,"  as  she  had  always  called  Marie,  if  she 
learned  that  she  had  given  her  love  unasked,  and  actually  desired 
the  love  of  a  man  betrothed  to  another  woman;  for  Monsieur  Enge- 
mann  had  not  denied  the  captain's  assertion;  he  had  only,  Marie 
thought,  resented  his  familiarity. 

"  "What  makes  you  so  rosy,  child?"  said  Madame  Bobineau,  sharp- 
ly. She  had  just  consulted  her  watch,  and  she  knew  that  before 
long  the  captain  might  be  expected ;  she  had  a  good  deal  of  way  to 
make  with  Marie  before  he  came.  Her  reception  of  Monsieur  Loi- 
gerot  must  not  be  left  to  chance.  Yet  the  wary  old  woman  scarce- 
ly knew  how  to  handle  the  subject  this  morning.  She  knew  so  well 
that  the  upshot  of  persuasion  often  depends  on  its  first  sentence. 
She  was  looking  keenly  at  Marie,  when  the  girl  raised  her  eyes,  and 
a  clew  at  once  peeped  out  to  help  Madame  Bobineau.  "You 
should  have  worn  your  new  gown,"  she  went  on,  without  waiting 
for  an  answer.     "We  shall  not  have  a  finer  day  than  this." 

"I  had  not  thought  of  it,"  the  girl  said,  drearily. 

"  You  have  time  to  go  back  and  change  before  we  start,  or  we  can 
call  for  you.   Monsieur  le  Capitaine  will  like  to  see  you  well  dressed. " 

Marie  was  silent,  but  her  face  became  hotter.  "I  do  not  wish  to 
change  my  gown,"  she  said. 

Madame  Bobineau  stretched  out  her  hand  and  helped  herself  to 
another  peach,  gobbling  at  it  as  if  she  meant  to  get  advice  out  of  its 
wrinkled  brown  stone;  the  juice  streamed  over  her  chin,  and  but  for 
her  table  napkin  would  have  reached  the  front  of  her  gown;  buf 
while  she  pulled  away  the  skin,  and  deposited  the  red-veined  stone 
on  the  edge  of  her  plate,  she  gained  space  for  reflection.  The  time 
was  so  short  that  she  felt  the  only  way  was  to  take  Marie  by  storm. 

"  Do  you  know  " — there  was  a  pitifulness  in  her  voice  that  roused 
the  girl's  attention,  it  was  so  new — "that  I  feel  very  sorry  for  you, 
Marie?" 


1C8  AT   THE    EED   GLOVE. 

Marie  looked  up  quickly ;  she  read  careful  scrutiny  in  the  small 
hard  eyes  fixed  upon  her  face,  but  she  would  not  wince.  Uncon- 
sciously Madame  Bobineau  was  developing  this  fresh,  simple  nature 
at  high  pressure.  All  at  once  it  came  to  the  girl,  as  by  a  sudden 
flash  of  knowledge,  that  it  was  safer  to  believe  the  hard  eyes  rather 
than  the  pitying  voice.  She  must  take  great  care  not  to  betray 
herself. 

She  actually  smiled  into  the  wrinkled  face.  "Do  not  be  sorry, 
then,  dear  madame,"  she  spoke,  gayly;  "be  glad  that  I  am  economi- 
cal, instead  of  vain ;  though,  indeed,  I  hardly  think  that  fat  old  cap- 
tain's notice  would  touch  my  vanity." 

"Chut!  chut!  you  must  not  speak  so;  Monsieur  Loigerot  is  not 
old,"  said  Madame  Bobineau;  "  but  I  am  not  thinking  of  your  gown 
in  that  way,  Marie.  I — I — well,  child,  I  wish  to  spare  your  feelings 
if  I  can,  but  in  your  place  I  should  do  all  I  could  to-day  to  seem 
gay  and  glad,  and  it  may  be  if  the  neighbors  see  you  going  about 
smiling  and  well  dressed,  they  will  forget  what  they  know  about 
you." 

Marie  was  not  red  now;  the  color  that  had  come  so  quickly  fled,  as 
fear  took  possession  of  her,  and  in  a  moment  she  felt  cold  and  stiff. 

"What  does  any  one  know  about  me?"  she  said,  in  a  dull  voice, 
while  a  hundred  dreads  seemed  to  be  muttering  words  that  her  ears 
could  not  gather. 

"Only  what  you  have  shown  them  so  heedlessly.  You  forget, 
Marie,  that  people  have  eyes,  as  you  have,  and  while  you  use  yours 
to  show  your  feelings  with,  others  look  on  and  amuse  themselves 
with  the  sight.  I  tried  to  check  you  at  the  Bear  Pit;  but  I  hear 
you  have  since  then  been  seen  in  the  street  laughing  and  talking 
with  Monsieur  Engemann  when  I  knew  nothing  about  it;  you  lay 
in  wait  for  him,  I  suppose.  Then,  of  course,  last  night  we  could  all 
see  plainly  what  ailed  you  —  at  least.  Monsieur  Engemann  and  I 
could  see.  He  might  have  been  a  little  kinder  to  you,  I  will  say, 
but  you  must  make  excuse  for  him;  I  dare  say  you  do,  now  you 
have  had  time  to  think  over  his  position  and  his  hopes." 

The  direct,  merciless  words  robbed  Marie  of  all  perception.  She 
felt  stabbed,  struck  down;  she  could  only  instinctively  raise  a  shield 
against  her  adversary ;  she  must,  she  .would,  hide  her  secret  from 
her. 

"What  do  you  mean,"  she  said,  slowly, "when  you  say  I  lay  in 
wait  for  that  gentleman?    I  met  Monsieur  Engemann  as  I  came 


AT  THE    RED   GLOVE.  169 

here  from  my  lodgings,  just  as  I  have  met  Monsieur  Loigerot  several 
times,  and  Monsieur  Riesen  too." 

She  stared  with  angry  defiance  at  the  hard  eyes  that  would  not 
leave  her  face. 

"Bah!  bah!" — the  old,  wrinkled  woman  nodded — "you  make  a 
good  fight,  Marie,  and  I  respect  you  for  it.  I  like  a  girl  to  be  brave 
when  she  has  made  a  fool  of  herself.  Now  be  wise  as  well  as 
brave,  child.  Do  not  let  the  gossips  of  the  Spitalgasse  say  to-day, 
'  There's  that  pretty  little  fool  Marie  PeyroUes  wearing  the  willow 
because  Monsieur  Engemann  is  away  courting  Madame  Carouge.'" 

"Madame!"  Marie  rose  up,  her  eyes  glowing  with  a  strange  new 
light.  No  wonder  it  was  strange :  a  new  inmate  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  the  girl's  heart;  a  feeling  never  yet  evoked  into  life  by  the 
gentle,  kindly  nurture  which  had  fostered  all  that  was  tender  and 
sweet  in  her. 

"  It  is  you  who  are  not  wise,  madame.  Yes,  you  look  shocked  at 
my  plain-speaking,  but  you  irritate  me,  and  you  must  take  the  con- 
sequences. By  what  right  do  you  say  that  1  wear  the  willow  for 
Monsieur  Engemann?  I  am  young,  and  so  is  lie,  and  young  men 
and  young  women  take  pleasure  in  speaking  to  one  another.  Were 
you  not  young  once  yourself,  madame?  I  do  not  care  for  the  gos- 
sips of  the  Spitalgasse,  or  for  Berne.  I  shall  go  away  from  Berne 
as  soon  as  I  can  hear  of  another  employment." 

Just  now,  drawn  up  to  her  full  height,  Marie  looked  as  grand  as 
the  beautiful  widow,  and  Madame  Bobineau  felt  a  little  afraid  of 
her ;  but  the  last  words  set  her  at  ease  again. 

"Bah" — she  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  looked  sneeringly  at 
Marie  from  head  to  foot — "one  would  think  you  were  on  the  stage, 
child.  Have  you  forgotten  that  I  am  your  guardian,  and  until  you 
are  of  age  you  must  do  as  I  bid  you?  Who  do  you  suppose  would 
employ  you  if  I  refuse  to  release  you  from  your  duties  here  ?  Even 
the  sisters  dare  not  take  you  away  from  me  if  I  assert  my  claim." 
She  looked  so  keenly  at  the  girl  that  the  rosy  color  flew  over  Marie's 
face  in  a  flash  of  bloom.  "  But  I  fancy  you  do  not  feel  in  a  mood 
for  convent  life  just  now,  do  you,  Marie?" 

Marie's  indignation  seemed  to  make  her  taller,  larger  in  every  way, 
as  she  stretched  out  her  strong,  well-formed  hand  and  arm  towards 
Madame  Bobineau. 

"Are  you  trying  to  make  me  run  away?"  she  said,  vehemently. 
"  Oh,  how  -sacked  you  are!" 


170  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

Madame  Bobineau  smiled  contemptuously. 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  very  forbearing.  I  believe  I  could  have 
you  put  into  the  reformatory,  and  certainly,  if  you  run  away,  I  shall 
give  instructions  that  you  are  taken  there,  you  ungrateful  hussy!" 
She  shook  her  fist  at  Marie. 

The  old  woman's  rage  had  flashed  out  at  last,  and  it  brought  tears 
into  her  hard  eyes.     The  sight  of  the  tears  softened  Marie. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  ungrateful,  but  why  do  you  say  cruel,  bad 
things  of  me?"  Then,  worn  out,  she  flimg  herself  into  a  chair,  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

' '  I  have  not  said  bad  things.  I  consider  you  a  good  girl,  or  I 
should  not  keep  you  here,  Marie.  But  I  must  judge  from  what  'I 
see.  Last  night  j^ou  heard  of  Monsieur  Engemann's  engagement 
to  Madame  Carouge,  and  you  burst  out  crying  and  sobbing  like 
a  baby." 

Marie  remembered  the  vexation  that  had  caused  her  tears,  and  she 
could  honestly  say  they  had  not  been  caused  only  by  the  news  she 
had  heard.  She  told  herself  bitterly  that  the  discovery  of  her  own 
folly  was  too  deep  a  humbling  to  be  got  rid  of  in  sudden  tears. 

"I  cried  because  I  was  vexed.     I — I  don't  like  that  old  man." 

Madame  Bobineau  felt  that  her  time  was  come. 

"  Captain  Loigerot  is  not  old,  Marie;  and  he  is  well  off  and  well- 
mannered,  and  a  fine  man  too;  any  girl  in  Berne  would  be  glad  to 
take  him  as  a  husband. "  She  paused.  Marie's  hands  had  fallen  in 
her  lap;  but  now  her  mouth  opened  widely,  showing  her  pretty,  even 
teeth.  ' '  Yes,  Marie,  such  a  man  as  he  is  might  have  any  one,  and 
he  has  chosen  you,  a  poor,  penniless  shop-girl,  and  instead  of  feeling 
flattered  and  grateful,  you  call  him  bad  names. " 

Marie's  stare  relaxed;  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  laughed 
merrily.  "Not  bad  names,"  she  said.  "But,  madame,  what  do 
you  mean — chosen  me?  Oh,  the  poor  old  dear!  And  is  that  why 
he  gave  me  the  bouquet?  "Why  " — she  jumped  up  and  stood  erect — 
"he  comes  up  to  about  here" — she  touched  her  shoulder.  "I  can 
see  almost  over  the  top  of  his  bald  head ;  and — and  he  is  double  my 
age.     Oh!  but  it  is  too  amusing." 

She  sank  down  in  the  chair  again,  and  laughed  till  her  eyes  ran 
with  tears. 

Madame  Bobineau  was  surprised  at  the  girl's  sudden  change  of 
humor,  but  she  was  far  too  experienced  to  imagine  that  she  had 
conquered. 


"AKE    YOU    TRYING    TO    MAKE    ME    RCN    AWAY?" 


i 


A. 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  173 

"  His  kiutlness  is  unlimited,"  she  said.  "He  found  out  you  liked 
flowers,  and  he  took  the  readiest  way  to  show  you  that  he  was  de- 
voted to  pleasing  you.  He  said  to  me,  '  She  shall  have  a  flower- 
garden  of  her  own,  and  a  greenhouse  also.  She  shall  have  every- 
thing that  I  can  give  her,  and  nothing  to  do  but  enjoy  herself,  if  I 
can  only  please  her.' " 

Marie  jogged  the  foot  she  had  crossed  over  its  fellow,  and  made  a 
wry  face.     "And  what  did  you  answer,  pray?" 
Madame  Bobineau  shook  her  head  at  the  scornful  tone. 
"You  need  not  mock,  Marie.     I  said  you  were  diflficult  to  please, 
and  that  I  could  not  answer  for  you,  and  I  told  him  to  be  patient. 
All  that  was  said  before  you  accepted  the  nosegay."    Marie  smiled. 
"But  listen,  child.    The  captain  asked  leave  to  walk  to  church  with 
us  to-day,  and  then  to  escort  us  to  the  Schanzli  in  the  evening.    Now, 
Marie,  I  heard  you  accept  this  last  proposal." 
"Well,  and  what  if  I  did?" 

"People  make  themselves  smart  to  go  to  the  Schanzli.  There 
will  be  music  there  to-night,  and  you  may  just  as  well  get  ready 
now.  If  you  change  your  gown  later  on,  the  captain  will  have  a 
right  to  think  it  is  done  for  him." 

She  looked  anxiously  in  the  girl's  face,  but  Marie  showed  no  signs 
of  yielding. 

" Go  quickly,  my  child,"  the  old  woman  urged,  "and  then  if  the 
captain  comes  before  you  return,  I  will  take  him  to  church,  and  you 
will  join  us  there." 

"  Stop,  madame  " — Marie  had  been  thinking.  "  I  am  not  going  to 
be  led  into  anything  against  my  will.  If  I  go  to  church  and  come 
out  with  the  captain,  does  it  pledge  me  to  anything?" 

Madame  Bobineau  was  growing  desperate  and  losing  her  temper. 
The  captain  would  come  in  ten  minutes,  and  she  had  made  no  im- 
pression on  Marie. 

"  You  have  been  trying  to  impose  on  me,  Marie,"  she  said,  angrily, 
"  and  you  know  it.  What  right  had  you  to  accept  those  flowers? 
You  knew  fast  enough  what  you  were  doing— a  beggar  like  you,  in- 
deed, to  be  picking  and  choosing!  I  have  been  much  too  forbear- 
ing. Who  ever  heard  of  a  girl  of  your  age  choosing  a  husband  for 
herself?  I  have  chosen  you  a  good  husband,  and  all  you  have  to  do 
is  to  accept  him  gratefully — voila  !" 

She  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  called  herself  an  old  fool  for  not 
having  taken  this  attitude  earlier  in  the  discussion. 


174  AT  THE   RED   GLOVE. 

Marie  rose  up. 

"  I  do  not  want  to  be  ungrateful  or  disobedient,"  she  said,  sadly. 
"I  will  go  and  change  my  gown  to  please  you;  but  I  cannot  marry 
Captain  Loigerot." 

"Nonsense!  I  tell  you  he  is  as  rich  as  he  is  kind.  What  more 
can  you  want  in  a  husband?" 

Marie  turned  away ;  her  face  was  full  of  sorrow. 

"  I  can't  love  him;  and  how  can  I  marry  a  man  I  do  not  love?" 
she  said,  half  crying.  At  that  moment  she  really  wished  she  could 
accept  the  captain,  it  seemed  such  an  easy  escape  from  the  glove 
shop,  from  Madame  Carouge,  and  from  her  misery. 

Madame  Bobineau  snapped  her  fingers.  "Love!  I  said  nothing 
about  love.  What  can  love  have  to  do  with  your  marriage?  A 
girl  like  you  marries  for  a  home,  for  a  position,  Marie,  and  Captain 
Loigerot  can  give  you  both.  You  little  simpleton,  do  you  think  I 
married  Bobineau  for  anything  except  his  glove  shop?" 

She  had  to  soothe  herself  with  an  extra  pinch  of  snuff. 

Marie  had  reached  the  door  of  the  kitchen,  and  now  she  leaned 
her  head  against  it;  she  did  not  want  the  old  woman  to  see  her  tears. 

"My  father  and  mother  loved  each  another;  I'm  sure  they  did." 

She  murmured  this  as  if  to  herself,  but  the  old  woman  heard,  and 
snorted  with  rage. 

"  A  pair  of  penniless  fools  they  were.  And  pray  what  happened? 
They  didn't  take  much  by  their  love,  Marie.  They  offended  all  their 
friends  " — she  rapped  her  large-boned  knuckles  on  the  snuff-box  to 
keep  time  to  her  words — "and  they  died  beggars — yes,  beggars. 
Don't  talk  to  me  of  your  father  and  mother,  Marie;  their  love  was 
mere  self-indulgence,  and  you  have  no  reason  to  be  grateful  to  them 
for  leaving  you  without  means  of  support.  I  should  like  to  know 
what  would  become  of  you  if  I  died  to  -  morrow.  I've  nothing  to 
leave,  after  my  funeral  is  paid  for,  I  can  tell  you." 

Marie  raised  her  tear-stained  face.  Once  more  she  stretched  out 
her  hand,  but  this  time  the  gesture  was  an  imploring  one. 

"I  beg  you  to  leave  me  alone,  madame ;  please  let  me  be  quiet  till 
after  mass,  at  any  rate;  I  cannot  think  in  a  hurry.  I  do  not  say 
even  then  that  I  will  marry  Captain  Loigerot — but  I  will  think. " 

She  went  out,  her  head  bent  on  her  breast.  All  life  and  hope  had 
fled  from  her  movements  as  she  walked  slowly  back  along  the  street 
to  her  bedroom  in  the  court  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 


AT  THE   RED  GLOVE.  I75 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ON  THE   LAKE. 

Madame  Carouge  had  sat  silently  gazing.  The  open  summer- 
house  with  pointed  red  roof,  in  which  she  had  invited  Rudolf  to  rest, 
was  on  the  top  of  one  of  two  towers  built  at  the  angles  of  the  old 
city  wall,  which  reaches  up  the  hill,  and  supports  and  girdles  in  the 
terrace  beside  the  flowery  church-yard.  The  angle  piers  and  roof  of 
the  summer-house  were  rosy  red  with  clinging  garlands  of  Virginia 
creeper.  Just  below  was  the  old  gray  wall,  flower  and  weed  grown ; 
houses  clustered  at  its  foot,  and  beyond  them  was  the  exquisite  blue- 
green  of  the  river;  on  the  left,  high  above,  rose  the  huge,  dark,  pine- 
covered  ridge  that  shelters  Thun  from  the  north  wind ;  on  the  right, 
the  willow-trees  by  the  river  were  silvery  gray  as  they  bent  over  an 
island  clasped  by  two  arms  of  the  Aar  —  a  curtain  of  trees  almost 
crossed  the  water;  and  beyond  was  the  still  lake,  washing  the  feet 
of  the  Niesen  and  of  the  grand  semicircle  of  mountains  that  seemed 
the  advanced  guards  of  the  snowy  giants  above  them.  The  sky  was 
still  clear  on  this  side,  and  the  dazzling  white  of  the  Blumlis  Alp  and 
the  Freundhorn  made  a  vivid  contrast  to  the  rich  green  and  purple 
of  the  Niesen  and  the  flank  of  another  ridge  that  stretched  out  as  if 
to  meet  it;  while  filling  up  the  gap  with  her  silver  glory  was  the 
Blumlis  Alp  —  a  glory  now  at  mid -day  tempered  by  delicate  gray 
shadows;  beyond,  the  Jungfrau,  the  Monch,  and  the  Eiger  rose  up 
stupendous,  as  if  in  a  kind  of  scorn  of  their  lesser  brethren.  A 
wreath  of  vapor  circled  the  Niesen,  but  it  looked  feathery,  and  as  if 
the  next  gust  of  wind  might  blow  it  away.  Rudolf  found  it  hard  to 
believe  he  was  gazing  at  sinful,  sorrow  -  stained  earth ;  he  felt  that 
this  might  be  a  glimpse  into  heaven. 

"  It  is  hard  to  think  that  there  are  doubtless  bad  people  living  in 
sight  of  all  this  beauty, "he  said,  in  a  low  voice;  "it  ought  to  keep 
them  pure  and  true. " 

"Yes,  "murmured  Madame  Carouge. 

He  did  not  look  round.  If  he  had  seen  his  companion's  face 
he  would  have  realized  the  fact,  so  hard  to  grasp,  and  yet  a  fact 


176  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

after  all,  that  no  one  sees  the  beautiful  in  nature  exactly  as  his  fel- 
low sees  it. 

While  this  exquisite  scene  had  taken  such  complete  possession  of 
the  man  that  he  almost  seemed  winged,  transported  out  of  all  gross- 
er affections  in  the  contemplation  of  its  beauty,  the  woman  had  also 
looked  at  it  with  pleasure,  but  the  effect  on  her  had  been  different. 
The  joy  its  beauty  gave  her  quickened  her  pulses,  and  made  her 
long  yet  more  impatiently  for  the  earthly  happiness  which  she  felt 
was  nearly  hers.  The  change  in  Rudolf's  manner  made  her  almost 
sure  that  he  would  ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  And  so  her  eyes  had  soon 
left  the  lofty,  dazzling  Blumlis  Alp  and  had  settled  on  the  face  be- 
side her— far  more  beautiful  to  her  in  that  moment  of  exquisite  en- 
joyment than  anything  else  could  be. 

Before  either  of  them  had  spoken  again,  Riesen's  harsh  voice  broke 
into  the  stillness.  "My  good  friends,  we  are  late  as  it  is;  the  boat 
people  will  think  we  are  not  coming." 

Engemann  and  Madame  Carouge  started  at  the  interruption ;  this 
annoyed  the  clockmaker  and  amused  his  wife. 

"Isn't  it  lovely?"  she  said;  "  like  a  fairy  scene  at  the  theatre;  you 
can  hardly  tear  yourselves  away.  Ah!  that's  so  natural!"  She 
gave  a  deep  sigh;  then,  turning  to  her  husband,  she  said,  briskly, 
"We  must  go  down  the  broad  steps,  Eugene;  that  is  the  shortest 
way,  you  know." 

They  soon  reached  the  principal  flight  of  steps  leading  down  into 
the  town,  and  while  Madame  Riesen  stopped  to  raise  her  skirt,  her 
husband  placed  himself  once  more  next  Madame  Carouge.  He  felt 
ill  used ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  in  asking  Engemann  to  seat  himself 
beside  her,  and  then  remaining  alone  with  this  young  fellow,  the 
widow  had  completely  thrown  aside  restraint,  and  had  treated  him 
with  scant  courtesy. 

Now  they  recross  the  bridge,  and  turning  to  the  left,  follow  the 
Aar,  past  the  garden  of  the  quaint  old  hotel,  past  a  house  or  two 
nestled  among  close-growing  trees,  then  beneath  a  winding  avenue 
which  casts  on  their  path  exquisite  green  shadows,  here  and  there 
barred  with  golden  sunshine.  The  river  that  borders  one  side  of 
the  sequestered  path  is  deepest  blue-green,  into  which  some  willow- 
trees  reflect  themselves  grayly.  Now  an  island  parts  the  river  into 
two  embracing  arms,  and  on  it  is  a  boat-house  wreathed  in  vines, 
and  these,  golden  as  the  sun  touches  their  leaves,  paint  themselves 
in  yellow  on  the  blue-green  water.     Now  the  path  diverges  a  little; 


i 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  177 

they  pass  a  vine-covered  chalet  so  bowered  in  climbing  plants  that 
one  wonders  how  the  outside  wooden  shutters  can  ever  be  closed. 
Through  the  vine  leaves  that  garland  the  windows,  orange  nastur- 
tiums and  red  geraniums  are  glowing,  and  over  the  shed  on  one  side 
a  Virginia  creeper  has  already  turned  to  vivid  fire-color. 

Gardens  with  fruit-laden  trees  now  lie  between  the  path  and  the 
river;  and  then  all  at  once  they  come  to  an  open  space,  a  grassed 
church-yard  with  crosses  wreathed  with  flowers,  and  mounds  cov- 
ered with  loving  tokens.  In  the  midst  of  all  a  little  church  rears  its 
slender  red-capped  tower,  the  white  walls  so  richly  clad  with  rose  and 
flame  colored  leaves  that  under  this  glowing  light  they  seem  to  burn. 

A  narrow  path  leads  down  to  the  river  outside  the  low  boundary 
wall  of  the  church-yard.  Here  is  a  little  landing-place  between  the 
church- yard  and  a  lovely  garden.  A  gayly  painted  boat,  with  red 
cushions  and  a  striped  orange  and  red  awning,  is  waiting  here  for 
its  freight. 

A  strip  of  grass  parts  the  church-yard  from  the  river,  and  this  is 
bordered  by  a  long  row  of  stately  hollyhocks,  the  blossoms  on  their 
tall  spires  crimson,  yellow,  and  creamy  white. 

Engemann  had  walked  along  in  too  absorbed  a  state  to  notice 
Madame  Riesen's  chatter.  There  had  been  something  dream -like 
in  the  subdued  light  in  the  avenue,  in  the  unreal  tints  on  the  water, 
and  then  in  the  sudden  vision  of  the  slender  church  tower  with 
clinging  flame-hued  leaves  rising  out  of  its  nest  of  circling  trees. 

But  when  they  drew  near  the  landing  -  place  Madame  Carouge 
stood  still  till  Rudolf  came  up  to  her.  She  pointed  to  the  many- 
colored  screen  of  hollyhocks  through  which  across  the  river  showed 
the  town,  surmounted  by  its  castle  and  church,  and  framed  by  the 
dark  pine  woods  stretching  on  till  they  seemed  to  reach  the  lake. 

"Yes,  it  is  all  charming,"  said  Engemann,  and  then  he  offered  his 
arm  to  help  her  into  the  boat. 

But  here  he  was  superseded.  A  strong  brown  hand  grasped  the 
arm  of  Madame  Carouge,  and  a  broad,  upturned  red  face  showed 
merry  blue  eyes  and  a  row  of  strong  white  teeth. 

"You  are  welcome,  lady, "the  sturdy  boat-woman  said.  "I  be- 
gan to  think  you  were  not  coming.     Aline,  attention!" 

By  this  time  Monsieur  and  Madame  Riesen,  Engemann,  and  the 
widow  were  all  seated.  Just  as  Madame  Carouge  saw  herself  com- 
pelled to  take  a  seat  beside  the  clockmaker,  she  clapped  her  hands 
gayly. 


178  AT  THE   RED   GLOVE. 

"Change  willi  me,  Monsieur  Engemann,"she  said.  "You  and 
Monsieur  Riesen  are  the  heaviest,  and  I  shall  feel  safer  if  you  sit 
together. " 

The  girl  Aline,  a  young,  good-looking  likeness  of  her  mother,  but 
equally  brown  and  sturdy,  seated  herself  between  a  pair  of  heavy 
oars.    She  was  bareheaded,  but  her  face  was  tied  up  in  white  linen. 

"Only  the  toothache, "  the  mother  said,  in  answer  to  Madame, 
Riesen's  question.  "  She  is  not  yet  accustomed  to  the  damp  from 
the  river." 

She  herself,  standing  erect  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  shaded  by  a 
round  black  hat,  looked  completely  weather-proof  as  she  drove  her 
'long  pole  into  the  wall  of  the  garden  terrace,  and  pushed  the  boat 
out  into  the  stream. 

Soon  they  had  floated  past  the  little  wall  covered  with  flowers 
that  reached  the  water's  edge,  and  all  at  once  the  lake  opened  before 
them,  broad  and  still,  with  mountains  rising  out  of  it  as  far  as  eye 
could  reach.  The  higher  line  of  snowy  Alps  had  veiled  itself  now 
with  clouds,  and  the  purple,  pyramid-like  Niesen  was  only  partly 
visible,  for  the  wreath  of  vapor  that  had  circled  it  reached  to  its 
top. 

"Niesen  has  got  his  nightcap  on,"  the  clockmaker  said,  "but  the 
day  may  be  fine  in  spite  of  that." 

The  boat-woman  did  not  answer;  she  was  looking  at  the  hand- 
some couple,  and  decided  in  her  own  mind  that  they  were  made  for 
each  another. 

She  had  been  sharp-witted  enough  to  understand  Madame  Ca- 
rouge's  manoeuvre  in  changing  her  seat,  and  she  began  to  talk  volu- 
bly to  Monsieur  Riesen,  and  compelled  him  to  talk  in  return. 

So  they  glided  on ;  the  awning  sheltered  them  from  the  glare,  but 
the  heat  was  oppressive. 

Madame  Carouge  raised  her  eyes,  full  of  soft  languor,  to  her  com- 
panion's face. 

"Is  not  this  an  exquisite  scene?"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "Do 
you  enjoy  it?" 

"Yes;"  but  Engemann  did  not  want  to  talk,  and  he  went  on 
dreaming.  He  could  not  have  said  what  his  thoughts  were,  for  there 
was  little  sequence  in  them ;  perhaps  at  that  moment  he  realized  the 
enjoyment  of  a  lotus  -  eater.  It  seemed  to  him  delightful  to  drift 
silently  on  and  on  amid  this  ever  -  changing  beauty,  and  the  talk 
of  the  clockmaker  and  his  wife  with  the  boat- woman  jarred  him. 


AT   THE    KED   GLOVE.  179 

"Wlien  sometimes  lie  looked  at  his  companion  he  felt  that  she  hur- 
monized  with  her  surroundings ;  her  eyes,  her  attitude,  were  full  of 
languid  repose. 

But  this  appearance  of  repose  was  deceptive;  there  was  fire  be- 
neath. She  could  not  understand  his  cold  reserve,  and  her  feelings 
rose  in  protest  against  it,  but  she  resolved  to  leave  him  to  himself. 

" If  he  cares  for  me,"  she  thought,  "he  must  soon  speak." 

Engemann  was  quite  unconscious  of  her  suffering;  he  felt  steeped 
to  the  lips  in  blissful  rest,  and  he  gave  himself  up  to  it. 

So  they  glided  on. 


PART    V. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

ON  THE  BRENK. 

As  the  boat  crossed  the  lake, 
Time  proved  the  truth  of  Rosa- 
lind's adage;  it  travelled  at  divers 
paces  with  the  several  persons  be- 
neath the  awning. 

Rudolf  Engemann  was  utterly 
unconscious  of  Time's  progress, 
while  to  the  clockmaker  the  hours 
had  seemed  leaden-footed  ever  since 
they  took  their  places  in  the  train, 
and  he  gave  a  grunt  of  satisfaction 
when  they  came  in  sight  of  Ober- 
hofen,  with  its  tiny  bay,  ended  by 
the  projecting  point,  its  church,  and 
ancient  castle,  with  the  range  of 
mountains  for  a  background. 

Madame  Carouge  roused  a  little 
when  she  saw  it;  to  her  the  time 
had  gone  by  very  quickly.  Riesen 
had  ceased  to  answer  the  boat- 
woman,  and  there  had  been  a 
long  silence.  Meantime  the  wid- 
ow had  dreamed  away  her  oppor- 
tunities, and  had  lost  her  chance 

of  speaking  to  Monsieur  Engemann. 

"I  am  a  simpleton,"  she  thouglit;  "what  is  the  use  of  all  the 

trouble  I  have  taken  if  I  make  no  use  of  this  chance?    And  yet — " 

What  could  she  do? 

She  looked  at  Engemann,  and  her  courage  would  not  come  to 


I 


AT   THE    RED  GLOVE.  181 

lielp  her;  she  felt  shy  of  him,  fearful  of  losing  his  good  opinion. 
Was  he  one  of  those  men,  she  wondered — she  had  heard  of  them — 
who  lose  all  the  prizes  of  life  because  they  are  too  unready  to  snatch 
at  Opportunity  as  she  passes  before  them  ? 

"How  cold  and  quiet  he  is,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Is  it  that  he 
enjoys  this  beautiful  scenery  so  intensely,  or  is  it — " 

She  frowned,  and  turned  to  look  into  the  blue-green  water,  for  she 
had  met  Madame  Riesen's  eyes  fixed  on  hers.  Those  thick  eyebrows 
drawn  together  had  a  threatening  aspect  which  alarmed  the  clock- 
maker's  wife,  and  forced  her  into  full  cackle  with  the  boatwom- 
an. 

Madame  Carouge  saw  her  own  beautiful  face  reflected  in  the  wa- 
ter, and  her  brows  relaxed,  her  red  lips  curved  into  a  smile.  "My 
love  makes  me  distrustful,"  she  thought.  "Marie  will  certainly 
marry  the  captain,  and  then — "  She  sighed,  but  she  did  not  turn  to 
look  at  Rudolf.  She  told  herself  that  nowadays  no  man  married  for 
love  ;  why  did  she  expect  him  to  be  different  from  others  ?  ' '  And 
I  have  so  much  besides  myself  to  give," she  said,  bitterly.  "But he 
need  not  be  so  cold,  so  reserved.  Ah,  it  is  doubtless  my  fault ;  I  so 
fear  to  betray  myself  that  I  have  repelled  him."  She  turned 
towards  him. 

"Monsieur  Engemann,"she  said. 

Engemann  started  from  his  reverie. 

"  Yes,  madame,"  he  answered,  smiling. 

She  gave  him  back  a  smile,  but  there  was  sadness  in  her  eyes. 
"  Pardon  me,  I  disturbed  you.  You  were  thinking  of  something — 
something  very  interesting  ?" 

She  looked  again  into  the  water,  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  ;"  he  turned  to  her  so  that  their  faces  were 
hidden  from  their  companions.  ' '  I  was  thinking  that  we  never  get 
what  we  wish.  It  seems  as  if  there  were  always  a  check  on  the  will ; 
even  this  water  leaps  up  against  the  shore,  and  then  is  called  back  ;" 
he  sighed  ;  his  eyes  were  still  fixed  on  the  water  :  he  was  uttering 
his  thoughts  aloud. 

To  Madame  Carouge  it  seemed  that  the  barrier  that  had  held 
them  apart  was  suddenly  swept  away  ;  her  eyes  grew  darker  and 
more  liquid,  and  her  rich  complexion  glowed  more  deeply  as  she 
earnestly  looked  at  him.  She  answered,  in  a  low  and  tremulous 
voice,  "  But  is  not  this  check,  as  you  call  it,  sometimes  self-imposed? 
do  we  not  deceive  ourselves  ?    You  are  wiser  than  I  am,  monsieur; 


182  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

but  I  fancy  self-distrust  has  before  now  come  between  a  man  and 
that  which  may  make  his  happiness." 

The  tender,  pathetic  tone  touched  him,  but  it  roused  him  too. 
He  felt  that  something  lay  hidden  in  her  words. 

"  What  does  she  mean  ?"  he  wondered,  and  he  felt  dazed.  "Does 
she  mean  that  I  have  neglected  my  chance  of  pleasing  her  ?  How 
handsome  she  looks  !  Yes,  I  ought  not  to  be  so  silent.  On  the  con- 
trary, madame,"  he  said,  "  it  is  you  who  are  wise  and  kind  ;  and  this 
is  a  truly  delightful  day  you  are  giving  us  ;  I  am  so  greatly  enjoy- 
ing it  that  I  fear  I  have  been  selfishly  silent ;  but  I  always  am  silent 
on  the  water." 

Madame  Carouge  turned  away  abruptly.  ' '  Just  the  same  as  ever, " 
she  thought ;  "he  always  slips  out  of  any  personal  talk  and  drifts 
into  commonplace."  Then,  aloud,  "Monsieur  Riesen,  shall  we  go 
back  now,  or  on  as  far  as  Gunten  ?" 

The  clockmaker  looked  towards  the  farther  side  of  the  lake  and 
shook  his  head  sagaciously.  A  bank  of  clouds  showed  black  be- 
hind the  Stockhorn  and  its  range  of  followers,  and  the  upper  part  of 
the  Niesen  was  invisible.  "What  do  you  think  of  the  weather?" 
the  clockmaker  said  to  the  boatwoman. 

At  this  she  looked  sideways,  and  also  shook  her  head.  "There 
is  no  telling,  monsieur  ;  it  may  come  soon,  or  it  may  not  come  before 
night ;  but  there  is  rain  up  there. " 

"  It  will  be  better  to  return,  will  it  not,  madame  ?"  Riesen  looked 
at  Madame  Carouge. 

"I  suppose  so." 

It  seemed  as  if  the  clouds  had  settled  on  her  also.  And,  indeed, 
she  felt  that  the  happiness  she  had  so  burningly  looked  for  had  been 
mirage.  She  had  been  all  day  with  Rudolf  Engemann,  and  yet  they 
would  probably  part  at  the  end  of  it  only  good  friends. 

"  You  have  enjoyed  the  day,  I  hope  ?"  RudoK  said. 

She  looked  bright  and  happy  as  she  answered,  "I — I  have  found 
it  only  too  short." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  he  said  ;  and  then  she  saw  him  smile  as  he  looked 
across  the  boat.  Madame  Riesen  was  struggling  into  an  enormous 
cloak,  and  as  her  husband  had  begun  to  put  it  on  her  wrong  side 
out,  this  had  provoked  a  fretful  dispute  which  completely  occupied 
the  pair. 

The  widow  turned  again  to  Rudolph.  "A  holiday  seldom  comes 
into  my  life,"  she  said,  "and  I  have  considered  a  holiday  with  a  sym- 


AT  THE   RED    GLOVE.  183 

pathetic  friend  one  of  the  blue  roses  of  existence.     To-day  I  have 
learned  that  almost  perfect  happiness  is  possible." 

A  puzzled  look  came  into  the  young  fellow's  eyes — novels  had  not 
been  in  his  way,  and  he  wondered  what  was  meant  by  "  blue  roses," 
but  the  pathos  of  the  last  words  reached  his  heart.  "Surely,"  he 
said,  "your  life  has  not  been,  is  not,  unhappy  ?" 

Madame  Carouge's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "Ah,"  she  sighed,  "I 
thought  I  had  at  last  found  a  friend  who  had  learned  to  read  my 
feelings,  but  sorrow  makes  one  exacting.  Do  you  not  think  it  is 
more  dreary  to  live  alone  among  others  than  to  live  actually  in  soli- 
tude?" 

Engemann  was  much  moved  and  puzzled  by  her  words  and  man- 
ner. Somehow  or  other  he  had  gi'ieved  this  deeply  interesting 
woman.  He  sat  in  perplexed  silence  while  the  boat  was  rapidly 
rowed  towards  Thun.  He  felt  that  Madame  Riesen  was  looking  at 
him,  now  that  she  was  cloaked  and  at  rest,  and  he  could  not  carry 
on  the  conversation  which  had  aroused  his  curiosity  as  well  as  his 
sympathy. 

Heavy,  scattered  drops  began  to  fall  on  the  awning  of  the  boat ; 
the  smoothness  of  the  water  was  ruffled,  and  the  golden  glow  left  it 
as  the  sunshine  was  hidden  by  fast- moving  clouds. 

"  We  had  better  go  right  on  to  the  landing-place  near  the  Freien- 
hof," Riesen  said  to  the  boatwoman  ;  "the  storm  will  burst  almost 
directly. " 

"May  I  not  wrap  you  in  this  ?"  Rudolf  said  to  the  widow,  taking 
up  a  cloak.  He  spoke  so  gently,  with  so  much  tender  sympathy, 
that  once  more  joy  and  hope  came  back  to  her. 

But  now  the  rain  beat  down  so  heavily  that  talk  was  impossible, 
and  by  the  time  they  reached  the  landing-place  the  opposite  side  of 
the  river  was  only  visible  through  the  sheets  of  rain  which  poured 
down  into  the  troubled,  turbid  wcter. 

"Take  my  arm, "Rudolph  said,  and  then  he  hurried  Madame  Ca- 
rouge  along  the  narrow  covered  bridge  over  the  weir,  and  through 
the  little  garden  and  the  coffee-room  of  the  hotel,  the  shortest  way 
to  the  upper  floor  of  the  quaint  old  house. 

The  rain  was  pouring  down  in  a  torrent  into  the  open  courtyard, 
and  the  leaves  of  the  plants  climbing  up  the  pillars  of  the  surround- 
ing galleries  were  already  soaked  with  water. 

The  landlord's  daughter,  a  kind-looking,  graceful  girl,  and  a  tall, 
handsome  maid  in  Swiss  costume  begged  the  two  ladies  to  come 


184  AT   THE   RED    GLOVE. 

into  the  kitchen  and  take  off  their  wraps  before  the  glowing  fire 
there.  Madame  Carouge  had  escaped  the  rain  better  than  her  com- 
panion had,  and  she  soon  found  her  way  to  the  salle,  leaving  Madame 
Riesen  in  full  talk. 

Rudolf  Engemann  was  there  alone,  looking  out  of  one  of  the 
broad,  low  windows.  The  dark  hill  opposite,  across  the  river,  was 
almost  hidden  by  long  cloud-wreaths,  moving  so  rapidly  from  one 
point  to  another  that  it  seemed  as  if  some  battle  were  being  fought 
there.  But  the  young  fellow  hardly  noticed  the  strange  effect,  he 
was  suffering  a  kind  of  remorse  for  the  indifference  he  had  shown 
in  return  for  the  widow's  kindness.  He  looked  round  when  the 
door  opened,  and,  turning  away  from  the  window,  he  came  up  to 
Madame  Carouge. 

"I  am  afraid  we  shall  not  get  our  walk  in  the  pine-wood,"  he 
said. 

"Should  you  have  liked  it  ?  I  thought," she  said,  timidly,  "you 
had,  perhaps,  found  the  day  long  enough.  I  feared  I  had  bored  you 
with  my  confidences." 

Engemann  reddened.  ' '  On  the  contrary,  I  have  been  greatly  in- 
terested ;  but — "  he  hesitated,  and  looked  simply  into  the  beautiful 
eyes  fixed  on  him — "I  am  not  much  used  to  talking  in  company, 
but  what  you  have  said  about  your  sadness  troubles  me  deeply." 

"Then  I  wish  I  had  not  spoken  of  it ;  you  must  forget^it,  my 
kind  friend. " 

Rudolf  shook  his  head,  and  as  she  seated  herself  in  one  of  the 
window  recesses  he  placed  himself  beside  her.  "  It  has  come  upon 
you  since  your  husband  died,"  he  said  tenderly.  "You  were  very 
young  to  have  such  a  sorrow  laid  on  you." 

She  drew  herself  a  little  away,  and  the  glow  vanished  from  her 
eyes.  "  No,  monsieur,  I  must  tell  you  the  truth,  even  if  I  lose  your 
precious  sympathy.  I  never  loved  my  husband.  I  married  for  a 
home,  not  for  love;  I  was  a  mere  girl,  my  husband  was  middle- 
aged  ;  I — well,  I  tried  to  do  my  duty  ;  but  when  he  died  I  could  not 
sorrow  ;  I  could  only  feel  that  I  was  free." 

Engemann  hardly  knew  what  to  say,  but  her  eyes  asked  him  to 
speak.  " In  that  case, "he  said,  "I  wonder  that  you,  so  yaung  and 
beautiful  as  you  are,  should  not  have  married  again." 

Madame  Carouge  sat  very  erect  and  looked  at  him  with  a  slight 
smile.  "I  will  tell  you,  my  friend,  for  I  may  call  you  so  now. 
When  I  married,  I  knew  nothing  of  love  ;  I  was  an  ignorant  child  ; 


AT   THE   KED    GLOVE.  185 

my  husband  gave  me  luxuries  which  were  all  new  to  mo  ;  but  I  soon 
tired  of  them,  as  children  tire  of  toys,  you  know.  One  day  he 
brought  me  home  some  romances,  and  then,  monsieur,  I  learned  how 
two  souls  in  perfect  unison  can  make  for  each  other  a  heaven  on 
earth  ;  then  I  learned  that  I  had  myself  destroyed  my  chance  of 
happiness." 

Her  voice  had  sunk  lower  ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  hands, 
clasped  in  her  lap.     She  was  looking  sadly  at  her  wedding-ring. 

Rudolf,  deeply  stirred,  bent  over  her,  eager  to  hear  the  end  of  this, 
the  first  romance  that  had  been  confided  to  him  by  a  woman  ;  and 
as  he  gazed  into  her  beautiful  face  his  pulses  quickened.  "Surely," 
he  said,  "a  heart  like  yours  can  never  be  in  need  of  love  ;  there 
must  have  been  many  before  now  who  have  striven  to  win  you." 

"Yes,  it  is  true  ;"  she  gave  him  a  sudden  glance  ;  "but  I  resolved 
to  wait  till  I  met  one  who  loved  me  for  myself.  One  knows  when 
one  is  truly  loved." 

"You  must  know," he  said,  earnestly. 

She  raised  her  eyes  suddenly,  and  met  his  glance  full  of  warm 
light  ;  her  own  fell  at  once. 

"  I  know  nothing,"  she  murmured.  "  What  does  a  woman  know  ? 
She  only  feels  and — loves." 

The  last  word  was  scarcely  audible,  and  yet  Rudolf  heard  it  ;  but 
he  also  heard  the  door  open,  and  he  saw  come  in,  not  only  the  clock- 
maker  and  his  wife,  but  a  group  of  English  tourists  on  their  way  to 
Interlaken,  grumbling  about  the  rain-storm  which  had  stopped  their 
journey. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  RESOLUTION. 

The  church  was  so  full  when  Marie  reached  it  that  she  could  not 
find  a  place  in  the  nave,  so  she  turned  aside  and  knelt  down  before 
the  altar  of  one  of  the  side  chapels.  The  poor  girl  was  so  absorbed 
in  sorrow  that  she  gave  little  attention  to  the  service.  She  covered 
her  face  with  her  hands,  and  soon  tears  streamed  between  her  fingers. 

After  a  while  she  looked  up  and  saw  dimly  that  the  chapel  was 
dedicated  to  "Our  Lady  of  Sorrows."  She  took  comfort  at  this  ;  it 
seemed  as  if  she  had  been  led  directly  to  sympathy  ;  but  she  drew  a 
long,  quivering  breath  as  she  accepted  the  omen.     The  deep  stillness 


186  AT   THE    KED   GLOVE. 

that  stole  over  her  spirits  made  the  voices  at  the  high  altar  sound 
far  off  and  indistinct ;  but  this  stillness  was  not  mute  to  Marie.  It 
told  her  to  submit,  it  warned  her  that  a  young  girl  could  not  venture 
on  a  life  of  straggle  and  issue  from  it  unscathed  ;  it  told  her,  too, 
that  she  would  serve  God  better  and  more  easily  in  peace  than  in 
strife  ;  but  still  the  means  of  obtaining  this  peace  in  her  outward 
life  was  as  distasteful  to  her  as  ever.  Once  more  she  hid  her  face 
between  her  hands  and  bent  her  head  in  prayer. 

"I  am  stubborn  and  rebellious,"  she  sobbed,  as  she  knelt  on  in 
troubled  silence. 

All  at  once  she  began  to  wonder  what  the  Superior  of  St.  Esprit 
would  have  counselled.  Well,  what  had  she  to  ask  ?  Whether  she 
should  obey  Madame  Bobineau.  And  then  Marie  remembered  the 
way  in  which  the  kind  Mother  used  to  question  her  on  her  mental 
troubles  till  they  set  themselves  straight ;  she  knew  that  in  this  case 
the  question  would  have  been  asked,  "Has  Madame  Bobineau  a 
claim  on  your  obedience  ?"  And  mechanically  she  supplied  the  an- 
swer, "  She  is  my  employer,  and  also  my  near  relative." 

Marie  knew  that  the  Superior  would  tell  her  disobedience  was  a 
sin,  and  at  the  thought  her  motive  for  this  disobedience  obtruded 
itself.  "  I  disobey  because  I  covet  the  love  of  a  man  who  has  none 
for  me,  who  loves  some  one  else."  The  words  seemed  to  be  whis- 
pered by  a  serpent.  This  was  worse  than  the  quietude  of  her  sor- 
row, for  the  serpent  stung  sharply  and  the  pain  felt  like  poison  ;  but 
she  knelt  on  still  in  mental  struggle. 

An  old  man,  not  far  off,  wondered  at  the  absorbed  piety  of  the 
young  girl  who  never  once  stood  or  sat  as  others  did,  but  knelt  on 
like  some  old  devotee.  He  noted,  too,  that  though  she  seemed  to  be 
praying,  she  did  not  say  her  rosary  or  open  the  book  she  had  placed 
on  the  ground  beside  her. 

The  sennon  was  over  ;  the  "most  solemn  part  of  the  service  began, 
but  Marie  took  no  heed.  All  at  once  the  bell  rang,  and  she  started. 
It  rang  again,  three  times,  and  every  one  in  the  church  knelt  rever- 
ently. Marie  bent  lower  still  and  tried  to  worship.  Now  at  last  she 
was  able  to  fling  away  every  thought  of  self  and  to  remember  where 
she  was. 

The  mass  was  ended.  Marie  rose  from  her  knees  and  looked 
round.  People  were  already  moving,  and  near  her — so  near  in  the 
crowd  that  filled  this  southern  aisle  that  Marie  wondered  she  had  not 
seen  her  before — was  Madame  Bobineau  ;   and  close  by  the  old 


AFTER    A    WHILE    SHE    LOOKED    UP. 


AT    THE    KED    GLO^'*E.  Jgg 

woman,  in  the  act  of  rising  from  a  chair,  was  Captain  Loigorot. 
He  did  not  see  Marie,  but  the  girl  was  impressed  by  the  loolc  of 
goodness  on  his  face — it  was  full  of  happy  peace.  She  gave  a  little 
gasp — was  this  an  answer  to  her  prayer  ?  If  she  consented  to  mar- 
ry this  kind,  amiable  man,  should  she  indeed  go  back  to  the  happj^, 
calm  life  she  had  so  little  prized  at  St.  Esprit,  but  which  she  had 
learned  to  regret  so  lovingly  ?  But  then  a  flood  of  unwelcome 
thoughts  rushed  in.  Marie's  lips  quivered  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  "But  if  it  brings  peace,"  she  murmured,  and  she  turned  to 
follow  the  crowd  out  of  the  church. 

Sharp-eyed  Madame  Bobineau  had  seen  Marie,  and  she  waited 
near  the  door  till  the  girl  approached.  As  Marie  dipped  her  fingers 
in  the  holy-water  stoup  the  captain  stepped  forward  and  did  like- 
wise, giving  her  a  silent,  smiling  glance. 

"H'm!" 

A  sudden  clearing  of  the  throat  made  Marie  look  up  and  become 
aware  that  Madame  Webern,  the  confectioner,  was  surveying  her 
with  significant  eyes. 

Presently  they  all  stood  together  on  the  pavement  outside,  while 
the  scorching  sun  poured  down  a  fierce  greeting  on  the  uncovered 
head  of  the  captain  as  he  bowed  low  to  Marie  before  offering  her  his 
arm.  She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  then  she  put  her  fingers  within 
the  close  clasp  of  his  coat-sleeve,  and  Madame  Bobineau  took  his 
other  arm,  and  they  started.  In  that  mute  action  the  girl  knew  that 
she  had  surrendered  herself  ;  a  thought,  divine  in  its  unselfish  truth, 
had  urged  on  her  decision.  Her  prayers  had  cleared  away  the  mist 
of  anger  which  Madame  Bobineau  had  awakened.  Marie  felt  sure 
that  Monsieur  Engemann  wished  her  well,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that 
it  must  make  him  happier  to  see  her  married  than  left  to  drudge  on 
at  the  Red  Glove,  pining  for  the  love  he  could  not  give  her. 

The  mental  struggle  she  had  gone  through  had  exhausted  her,  and 
she  did  not  know  what  the  captain  talked  about  till  they  were  near 
home.     Then  she  began  to  listen. 

"Tut,  tut !  Do  you  see  it,  mademoiselle  ;  the  day  is  clouding 
over  :  it  will  be  vexing  if  our  evening  at  the  Schiinzli  is  not  bright. 
You  would  like  to  see  the  Alp-Gluhen,  would  you  not,  and  the  sky 
must  be  bright  for  that?  Ah  !"  Here  the  captain  managed  to  rub 
his  hands  together.  ' '  That  is,  let  me  tell  you,  mademoiselle,  a  sight 
which  will  rejoice  your  heart." 

"  Yes,"  Marie  said,  and  she  smiled.     After  all,  what  did  it  matter  ? 


190  AT   THE    KED    GLOVE.. 

She  could  never  be  happy  again,  but  she  could  be  brave,  and  she 
could  try  to  make  others  happy,  she  thought,  in  the  exaltation  to 
which  she  had  brought  herself.  She  preferred,  however,  not  to  meet 
the  captain's  admiring  eyes,  and  the  street  was  so  full  of  people  com- 
ing and  going  that  she  had  plenty  of  excuse  for  looking  about  her. 
At  last  they  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  Red  Glove;  the  two  elders 
stood  still,  and  let  Marie  pass  in  before  them. 

"I  feci  like  a  bird  going  in  at  the  door  of  its  cage,"  the  girl 
thought. 

But  she  went  on  to  the  kitchen  and  took  off  her  hat ;  then  she  put 
the  backs  of  her  hands  against  her  cheeks  and  felt  how  burning  hot 
they  were  ;  she  could  not  see  the  exquisite  rose-color  that  glowed  on 
her  face  ;  her  eyelids,  it  is  true,  were  heavy,  and  her  eyes  were  lan- 
guid, but  Marie  had  rarely  looked  so  attractive. 

Meantime  Monsieur  Loigerot  was  speaking  to  his  landlady.  The 
captain  had  had  time  to  reflect,  and  although  he  still  felt  rather  shy 
of  the  young  girl  he  meant  to  marry,  a  certain  instinct  warned  him 
that  it  Avas  better  to  adopt  a  masterful  manner  with  Madame  Bobi- 
neau. 

"I  may  consider  the  affair  arranged,  madame,"  he  said,  "and  I 
may  venture  to  salute  mademoiselle?" 

His  little  eyes  twinkled  greedily. 

•'I  am  sure  I  don't  know  about  that,"  she  answered.  " Marie  la 
very  young,  and  full  of  convent  prejudices.     She — " 

The  captain  snapped  his  lingers. 

"Ta,  ta,  madame  ;  we  will  endeavor  to  overcome  the  convent ;  in 
your  presence,  however,  be  it  understood." 

He  stood  aside  ceremoniously  to  allow  her  to  pass  him  in  the  nar- 
row passage,  and  Madame  Bobincau  went  into  her  little  sitting-room. 
She  looked  round,  and  then,  not  choosing  to  expose  herself  to  another 
dispute  with  Marie,  she  went  to  the  door,  when  she  had  offered  Cap- 
tain Loigerot  a  chair. 

"Marie,  Marie,"  she  called  out ;  she  was  saying  to  herself,  "Will 
he  expect  breakfast?  it  is  certain  that  he  has  not  yet  taken  breakfast." 

Her  face  lengthened  and  sadness  spread  over  her  as  she  pictured 
to  herself  the  treasured  sweetbread  and  the  half  chicken  now  lying 
snugly  in  her  cupboard  being  swallowed  by  the  captain  with  the  ap- 
preciation of  a  man  who  dines  well  every  day. 

"  Surely  Marie  is  as  one  of  the  plagues  of  Egypt  to  me,"  she  said 
to  herself.    "  It  v.ill  indeed  be  a  deliverance  when  the  captain  takes 


AT   THE   RED    GLOVE.  191 

her  to  himself.  Marie,"  she  called  again,  and  she  tried  to  make  her 
voice  pleasant;  "Marie,  come  here,  you  are  wanted." 

But  Marie  did  not  come,  and  Madame  Bobineau  felt  that  she  must 
fill  up  the  gap  of  silence,  lest  the  captain  should  take  offence. 

"Monsieur  has  breakfasted?"  she  asked. 

"No,  madame;"  he  waved  his  hand  pompously.  "  On  so  impor- 
tant an  occasion  as  this,  one  must  even  derange  one's  habits.  My 
happiness  was  worth  such  a  sacrifice." 

He  looked  up  at  the  ceiling  and  cleared  his  throat.  Though  he 
was  in  love,  he  felt  hungry,  and  he  wished  Marie  would  appear. 

Madame  Bobineau's  face  became  browner  and  more  puckered  than 
usual. 

"Will  monsieur  permit  me  to  offer  him  an  humble  meal?  I — " 
Every  word  seemed  to  drag  itself  out  of  her  with  pain. 

Captain  Loigerot  waved  his  hand  in  refusal,  but  he  bowed  in  ac- 
knowledgment. 

"A  thousand  thanks,  madame,  but  my  breakfast  is  waiting  for 
me  at  the  hotel,"  he  said,  in  his  bluff  est  voice;  and  then  he  rubbed 
his  hands  in  self-congratulation.  He  had  never  eaten  within  the 
walls  of  the  Red  Glove,  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  in  accepting  Ma- 
dame Bobineau's  hospitality,  even  in  Marie's  company,  he  should 
make  a  disastrous  exchange  for  his  comfortable  and  ample  repast  at 
the  Hotel  Beauregard. 

Marie  came  in  shyly,  and  stood  still  in  the  doorway. 

The  captain  got  up.  He  had  set  down  his  hat  beforehand,  and 
now  he  gravely  walked  up  to  the  girl,  and,  partly  standing  on  tiptoe, 
he  kissed  first  one  rosy  cheek  and  then  the  other  with  infinite  satis- 
faction. 

"  Mademoiselle  Marie,"  he  said,  "  I  will  do  my  best  to  make  you 
happy." 

Madame  Bobineau  stood  open-mouthed  with  wonder  and  curiosity, 
but  wonder  conquered,  for  Marie  did  not  resist  the  captain's  salute, 
or  run  away  afterwards.  She  was  quite  passive.  She  blushed  still 
more  deeply,  and  then  all  her  newly  gained  color  left  her,  and  she 
looked  very  white  as  she  sat  down  on  a  chair  near  the  door. 

The  captain  had  turned  rather  red,  but  now  he  rubbed  his  hands 
cheerfully. 

"  Monsieur  must  be  very  hungry,"  Bobineau  said ;  she  was  human, 
after  all,  and  she  pitied  Marie  at  that  moment.    ■ 

"It  is  true,  madame,  I  am  hungry,  but  I  had  forgotten  it."    He 


192  AT   THE    BED    GLOVE. 

turned  from  bis  contemplation  of  Marie,  and  plunged  his  hands  first 
into  the  bottom  of  one  pocket,  then  of  another.  "And — and — I 
have  also  forgotten —  DiaNe  !"  he  muttered,  "  it  was  not  a  thing  to 
forget.  Mademoiselle  Marie  " — he  bowed  stiffly — "  I  wished  to  offer 
you  a  token  of — of  friendship,  but  I  have  unfortunately  left  it  up- 
stairs.    If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  go  in  search  of  it." 

Marie  looked  at  him  fixedly. 

"Certainly,  monsieur,  as  you  please."  Her  tone  was  as  lifeless  as 
her  attitude,  but  the  captain  admired  what  seemed  to  him  her  self- 
possession.  He  had  some  misgivings  about  the  giddiness  natural  to 
girls,  but  Marie  appeared  to  him  to  have  accepted  her  new  position 
with  the  dignity  which  would  have  been  natural  to  Madame  Ca- 
rouge. 

As  he  left  the  room  to  go  up-stairs  Madame  Bobineau  bustled  out 
after  him,  and  Marie  was  left  alone. 

While  she  had  stood  in  the  kitchen  nervously  twisting  her  fingers 
together  she  had  felt  as  if  that  w^hich  she  knew  lay  before  her  were 
impossible  to  undergo,  and  then,  by  a  sudden  wrench,  she  had  forced 
herself  away  from  the  kitchen  door,  against  which  she  had  leaned,  a 
tall,  trembling  figure  clad  in  her  pale-gray  gown,  and  had  come,  as 
it  were,  recklessly  into  the  captain's  presence.  How  simple  an  act 
this  so  dreaded  kissing  had  been!  and  yet —  For  an  instant  her 
blushes  had  seemed  to  burn  into  her  cheeks,  and  then  she  had  grown 
cold  as  a  stone.  It  had  been  a  mere  formal  action,  and  yet  Marie 
felt  that  she  was  irrevocably  parted  from  Monsieur  Engcmann;  even 
if  he  were  free  she  had  put  a  barrier  between  them;  through  that 
kiss  she  belonged  to  Captain  Loigerot. 

So  she  sat  in  a  kind  of  stupor  of  despair,  while  Madame  Bobi- 
neau followed  the  captain  up-stairs. 

"Excuse  me  for  inti-uding,  monsieur,  but  have  the  goodness  to 
listen  to  me,"  she  said,  as  she  stood  at  the  open  door  of  his  sitting- 
room. 

He  did  not  ask  her  to  enter.  A  sort  of  impatient  surprise  met  her 
in  his  small  ej'cs.  He  considered  that  she  was  impertinent  to  have 
followed  him. 

"  At  your  service,  madame,  but  it  is  a  pity  you  should  take  the 
trouble  to  climb  the  stairs  when  I  intend  to  rejoin  you  below  di- 
rectly. I " — he  took  a  small  parcel  from  his  table,  and  puffed  out  his 
words  with  extra  effort — "  I  only  came  to  seek  a  gift  I  v,-ish  to  offer 
to  mademoiselle." 


I 


AT   THE   RED   GLOVE.  193 

He  waited  for  her  to  precede  him  down  the  stairs,  but  as  she  did 
not  move,  but  stood  still  fully  relieved  against  the  white-painted 
door,  looking  even  more  like  a  brown  toad  than  ever,  he  stepped 
past  her,  and  was  going  down-stairs,  when  he  felt  a  pull  at  his  coat- 
tails. 

He  turned  round.     ' '  Madame — " 

"Chut!"  She  put  her  finger  to  her  lips.  "  Will  it  not  be  wise  if 
monsieur  first  has  his  breakfast?  Marie  is  a  little  confused;  it  is  all 
so  new  to  the  child.  We  will  dine  in  monsieur's  absence,  and  Marie 
and  I  shall  attend  vespers,  and  then  monsieur  will  honor  us  with  a 
little  visit,  and  we  shall  all  be  ready  to  walk  to  the  Sehanzli." 

The  captain  grew  very  red,  and  his  mustache  bristled. 

"I — I — I,"  he  began  to  stammer,  with  impatience — "I  have  not 
yet  had  a  word  with  the  dear  little  girl.  Mafoi,  madame,  I  cannot 
leave  her  yet. " 

He  turned  from  her  abruptly,  and  went  down  the  stairs  as  fast  as 
he  could. 

But  the  mistress  of  the  Red  Glove  was  a  match  for  him. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  monsieur,"  she  called  out;  then,  as  he  stood 
still,  she  hurried  down  and  stood  beside  him  on  the  landing.  "I 
have  something  to  say,  monsieur  " — she  meant  to  smile,  but  her  nar- 
row lips  made  the  effort  more  like  a  grin — "  something  that  cannot 
be  called  out  from  story  to  story.  Monsieur  knows  perhaps  better 
than  I,  but  I  fancy  he  does  not  make  the  most  of  his  advantages." 

"Eh?— what?  What  is  the  meaning  of  your  words?"  he  said, 
with  an  abashed  look  which  almost  upset  her  gravity. 

"  Well,  monsieur,  I  can  explain  them,  I  hope,  without  giving  you 
offence.  If  I  were  a  handsome  officer,  and  went  courting,  I  should 
leave  the  girl  to  think  a  little  over  the  honor  I  had  done  her  by  salut- 
ing her."  Then,  unable  to  keep  in  her  laughter  at  his  look  of  be- 
wilderment :  "  Well,  then,  if  monsieur  takes  my  advice— and  I  know 
something  about  girls— he  had  better  leave  Marie  a  bit  to  dream  over 
that  kiss,  till  she  begins  to  want  another.     Aha!" 

The  captain  was  not  convinced;  he  felt  like  a  dog  robbed  of  a 
bone.     "  I  have  left  my  hat  in  the  parlor,"  he  said. 

"  A  hundred  pardons,  monsieur,  but  I  took  the  liberty."  And  she 
offered  him  his  hat,  which  she  had  kept  hidden  behind  her. 

Loigerot  gulped  down  a  strong  word.  ' '  I  shall  meet  you  as  you 
come  from  vespers,  madame,"  he  said  stiffly.  "  I  have  the  pleasure 
of  saying  au  revoir." 


194  AT  THE    EED    GLOVE. 

When  Madame  Bobineau  had  let  her  lodger  out,  and  had  closed 
the  door  after  him,  she  unlocked  a  side  door  that  led  from  the  pas- 
sage into  the  shop,  and,  crossing  it  noiselessly,  she  peeped  over  the 
top  of  the  green  blind  into  the  parlor. 

Marie  sat  where  they  had  left  her,  pale  and  still.  Her  arms  hung 
down  straight  beside  her,  but  there  was  absolutely  no  expression  on 
her  face. 

Now  that  Madame  Bobineau  had  her  own  way,  she  felt  some  com- 
passion for  her  cousin. 

"  Poor  child!"  she  said,  "  I  do  not  wonder.  He  is  fat  and  ugly, 
and  he  has  no  manners.  But  what  will  you?  The  bitterest  of  medi- 
cines is  sure  to  be  a  tonic.  Bah!  why  am  I  so  silly?  in  six  months' 
time  she  will  have  grown  fond  of  her  little  captain." 

Then  she  stole  cautiously  back  to  the  passage,  and  retreated  to  the 
kitchen.  She  resolved  to  leave  Marie  and  her  sorrow  in  peace  till 
dinner-time,  and  she  also  determined  that  the  dinner  should  be  an 
abundant  one,  even  if  her  own  supper  suffered  in  consequence. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

AT  THE   SCHANZLI. 

Sunday's  storm  has  cleared  the  air,  and  although  yesterday  was 
gray  and  undecided,  the  sun  has  asserted  himself  again  on  this  Tues- 
day morning,  and  gives  every  promise  of  a  fine  evening.  Rudolf  En- 
gemann  tells  himself  this  as  he  looks  at  some  posters  pasted  on  the 
piers  of  the  arcades.  On  these  is  announced  a  concert  at  the 
Schanzli  this  evening,  to  be  followed  by  a  show  of  fireworks.  Ru- 
dolf had  seen  this  announcement  last  night  on  his  return  from  Bale, 
where  he  had  to  go  on  business  for  the  bank,  and  he  then  determined 
to  get  tickets  for  the  entertainment,  and  to  offer  one  to  Madame 
Carouge.  Now  he  goes  into  the  shop  indicated  on  the  poster,  and 
purchases  two  tickets. 

Going  out  again  he  meets  the  captain,  bent  on  a  similar  en-and, 
but  he  contents  himself  with  a  nod.  and  hurries  on  to  breakfast  at 
the  Hotel  Beauregard. 

The  captain  stands  on  the  door-step  and  looks  after  him,  balanc- 
ing himself  alternately  on  his  toes  and  heels.  He  nods  his  head  sev- 
eral times,  then  he  shakes  it;  finally  his  hands  explore  his  capacious 
pockets  and  stay  in  them. 


i 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  195 

"The  difference  of  age  is  on  the  wrong  side;"  he  smiles;  "ma- 
dame  is  certainly  a  fine  woman,  but  the  poor  fellow  will  not  enjoy 
life  as  I  shall  with  my  girl-wife.  Aha!  I  shall  have  my  little  duck 
to  myself  this  evening.  I've  not  seen  much  of  her  yet.  I  must  get 
the  wedding  fixed  without  delay." 

He  looks  radiant,  he  almost  smacks  his  lips,  as  he  turns  to  the 
counter  and  asks  for  three  tickets. 

"I  suppose  they  have  them  at  the  hotels?"  be  says,  as  he  takes 
them. 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"Engemann  has  wasted  his  money,"  the  captain  thinks;  "but 
still  he  is  on  the  right  track.  Yes,  yes,  it  is  undoubtedly  an  atten- 
tion he  should  pay  to  the  widow.  I  do  not  understand  his  absence 
from  the  dinner-table  yesterday;  it  did  not  look  well.  One  cannot 
be  too  attentive  under  such  circumstances,  ma  foi ;"  he  gives  his 
pocket  a  slap  as  he  places  the  tickets  inside  it.  "  It  was  hard  work 
at  first  with  Marie,  but  I  fancy  it  will  be  plain  sailing  now." 

He  smacks  his  lips  this  time,  and  goes  off  to  prosecute  the  morn- 
ing walk  which  gives  him  such  a  keen  appetite  for  breakfast.  He 
feels  impatient  for  the  evening.  The  storm  upset  his  plans  on  Sun- 
day, and  the  thunder  gave  Marie  such  a  headache  that  she  went 
home  to  bed  at  a  very  early  hour.  He  saw  her  yesterday,  but  Ma- 
dame Webern  had  come  into  the  Red  Glove  for  a  gossip,  and  he 
could  only  get  a  few  words  with  his  shy,  sweet  betrothed.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  this  evening  must  reward  him  for  the  self-denial  he  had 
been  forced  to  exercise. 

The  day  seemed  long,  and  he  was  disappointed  in  his  hope  of  a 
talk  with  Madame  Carouge.  Yesterday  she  had  been  absent  from 
her  parlor,  and  to-day  she  seemed  completely  absorbed  as  she  bent 
over  her  desk,  and  the  captain  found  it  impossible  to  conquer  the 
awe  with  which  the  handsome  widow  inspired  him.  She  seemed  to 
him  a  goddess  among  women,  and  he  regarded  Rudolf  Engemann 
with  increased  admiration  as  the  possessor  of  this  beautiful  creat- 
ure's affections.  He  dined  alone  to-day,  so  as  to  start  in  good  time 
for  the  Schiinzli,  and  he  did  not  see  whether  Engemann  went  to  the 
widow's  parlor.  Dinner  over.  Monsieur  Loigerot  set  his  hat  a  little 
on  one  side,  and  then  rolled,  in  his  leisurely  fashion,  into  the  street 
which  called  itself  farther  on  the  Spitalgasse. 

At  the  Red  Glove  Madame  Bobineau  was  in  anxious  expecta- 
tion: both  she  and  Marie  were  ready  to  start,  and  the  old  woman 


196  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

feared,  if  the  waiting  were  prolonged,  Marie  would  break  down. 
Just  now  she  had  begun  to  sob.  Only  two  sobs  came,  and  then, 
clasping  her  hands,  the  girl  forced  herself  to  be  still. 

Madame  Bobineau's  unusual  kindness  since  Sunday  had  unnerved 
Marie.  She  suspected  that  it  was  by  Madame  Bobineau's  invitation 
that  Madame  Webern  had  come  in  yesterday  evening  just  before  the 
captain  appeared,  so  that  there  had  been  no  opportunity  for  privato 
conversation,  and  Marie  had  overheard  the  old  woman  request  Mon- 
sieur Loigerot  to  keep  away  during  business  hours,  lest  he  should 
be  in  the  way  of  her  customers.  Now,  when  the  old  woman  came 
up  to  her  and  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks,  she  had  a  hard  struggle 
to  keep  in  her  tears. 

"That's  a  good  girl,"  said  Madame  Bobineau;  "a  very  good 
girl.  You  have  done  very  well " — she  took  a  huge  pinch  of  snuff 
and  patted  Marie's  shoulder — "  and  you  are  going  to  be  so  happy, 
dear  child.  Behave  well  to  your  husband,  and  he'll  give  you  rings 
and  brooches  and  silk  gowns,  and  I  don't  know  what — perhaps 
some  Brussels  lace.     Mon  Dieu,  Marie,  think  of  that!" 

"Do  not,  madame,"  said  Marie,  quietly,  for  they  were  waiting  in 
the  shop,  and  madame  had  not  put  up  the  shutters  lest  she  should 
lose  the  chance  of  a  late  customer. 

Just  then  the  captain  opened  the  door  and  came  in,  smiling  and 
bowing,  first  to  Marie  and  then  to  the  old  woman. 

"Ah,  monsieur,  you  are  in  good  time." 

The  captain  nodded,  and  going  up  to  Marie  he' took  her  hand, 
bent  over  it,  and  kissed  it.  The  girl  twitched  her  hand  away  with 
an  involuntary  movement  of  disgust. 

"  Marie,"  said  Madame  Bobineau,  "  run  and  fetch  my  blue  shawl, 
there's  a  good  girl — it  must  be  time  to  start." 

The  girl  hurried'  away  upstairs,  and  Madame  Bobineau  patted 
the  captain's  arm. 

"Monsieur  does  not  mind  her  shy  ways,  does  he?"  she  said,  in 
her  oiliest  tones.  "No,  no;  he  is  too  wise;  she's  only  shy;  girls  are 
all  a  little  shy  with  their  lovers  at  first;  but  believe  me,  monsieur,  it 
soon  goes  off.  Men  have  only  got  to  be  patient.  Why,  when  first 
I  began  to  take  snuff  1  used  to  sneeze;"  she  stopped  and  took  a  huge 
pinch.  "Take  no  notice.  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,  and  she'll  soon 
get  used  to  you." 

The  captain  fidgeted.  He  felt  that  Madame  Bobineau's  simile 
was  superfluous,  but  his  good-nature  triumphed. 


AT   THE   EED   GLOVE.  197 

"  No  doubt  you  are  right,  madame.  I  must  restraiu  my — my  ar- 
dor.    She  is  sliy,  pretty  little  angel,  and  I  like  her  for  it." 

"Ah,  monsieur  can't  think  how  fond  the  child  is  of  him.  What 
a  thing  it  is  to  be  handsome  and  amiable!  Mon  Dieu  !  monsieur 
will  be  a  happy  man." 

Marie  came  in  with  the  shawl  before  the  captain's  delight  had  ut- 
tered itself.  He  gave  the  girl  a  loving  look  as  he  took  the  shawl 
from  her  and  put  it  over  his  arm. 

"  Now,  are  we  ready?"  he  said.  "We  shall  find  a  carriage  round 
the  corner,  ladies;"  and  offering  one  arm  to  Marie  and  the  other  to 
Madame  Bobineau,  they  started  for  the  Schanzli. 

The  carriage  set  them  down  near  the  top  of  the  steep  hill,  and 
they  walked  up  through  a  plantation  till  they  reached  the  terrace 
of  the  Schanzli. 

There  were  many  gay  and  merry  groups  already  on  the  terrace. 
The  band  was  playing  a  waltz  of  Chopin's;  people  walked  up  and 
down,  stopping  now  and  then  to  chat  as  friends  met  one  another,  or 
to  gaze  at  the  picturesque  view  of  the  town,  or  at  the  grand  snow- 
giants  now  scarcely  veiled  by  the  clouds.  But  the  gazers  were  not 
so  numerous  as  the  promenaders  were,  and  some  of  them  were  evi- 
dently strangers  to  Berne,  for  as  they  sat  at  little  tables  sipping 
lemonade  and  syrups  they  were  diligently  studying  a  huge  chart  of 
the  mountains,  which  was  passed  from  one  table  to  anotlier. 

Some  of  these  travellers  did  not  care  about  the  charts;  they  were 
bent  on  drinking  in  the  beauty  of  the  scene  as  they  paced  slowly  up 
and  down.  Up  the  side  of  tlie  steep  hill  on  which  the  terrace  stood 
were  vine-clad  houses  bowered  among  trees  and  glowing  flowers; 
far  below  them  the  swift  blue-green  Aar  rushed  on  between  its 
fringes  of  slender  poplars ;  while  above,  on  the  opposite  side  of  this 
green  valley,  lay  the  picturesque  houses  of  Berne,  with  the  dark 
minster  rising  from  among  them  against  a  background  of  green  and 
purple  hills.  Far  away,  stretching  right  and  left  across  the  horizon, 
was  the  magnificent  range  of  snow-mountains. 

Marie  stood  still ;  she  felt  spelled  with  delight  as  she  gazed  on  the 
lovely  scene.  She  forgot  the  captain  and  her  sorrow — everything 
but  tlie  picture  before  her.  A  delicious  breeze  that  seemed  to  come 
from  the  snow-mountains  cooled  her  flushed  cheeks  and  blew  her 
fair  hair  into  her  soft  gray  eyes.  As  she  looked  away  from  the 
view  to  the  Avood  behind  the  terrace,  she  saw  couples  seated  here 
and  there  on  benches  under  the  trees.     Two  figures  seated  farther 

8* 


198  AT   THE   KED    GLOVE. 

off  than  the  rest  were  indistinct  in  the  increasing  gloom.  Marie 
said  to  herself,  "  Some  of  these  people  are  perhaps  happy  lovers." 
And  then  a  strange  feeling  came  at  her  heart,  a  sort  of  strangling 
sensation,  and  she  looked  quiclily  at  her  companions. 

"I  think  half  the  town  is  here,"  Madame  Bobineau  was  say- 
ing. 

"Yes,  yes;  I  think  so."  The  captain's  legs  were  planted  very 
wide  apart,  and  his  chest  was  fully  expanded.  "Aha!  madame, 
they  have  come  here  to  see  ray  happiness.  Ha!  ha!  ha!"  Then 
he  turned  to  Marie.  "Is  it  not  all  pretty,  mademoiselle,  and  the 
mountains  just  in  the  right  place?  I  call  that  a  coup  de  theatre. 
Eh,  Mademoiselle  Marie?" 

"Is  it  very  beautiful,  monsieur,"  the  girl  answered,  sadly.  To 
herself  she  said:  "The  mountains  will  soon  fade  out  of  sight,  and 
then  all  will  be  gloom,  like  my  life;  I  have  done  with  sunshine." 

Tlie  glamour  of  the  scene  around  her  had  at  once  vanished  when 
she  heard  the  captain's  voice. 

Just  then  some  one  came  running  across  to  them  out  of  the  dark- 
ness under  the  trees.     It  was  Madame  Riesen. 

"Good-evening,  monsieur  and  madame.  Good-evening  to  you. 
Mademoiselle  Marie.  Have  j-ou  met  Eugene,  I  wonder?"  She 
tried  to  smile,  but  she  was  evidently  vexed.  As  she  looked  at 
Marie,  she  saw  that  her  hand  was  on  the  captain's  arm.  "I  want 
you  to  tell  me  something,"  she  whispered  to  Madame  Bobineau. 
"  Can  you  spare  me  a  moment?" 

Madame  Bobineau  took  her  hand  from  Monsieur  Loigerot's  arm, 
and  stood  still  beside  her  friend. 

"It  is  true  that  your  lodger  is  going  to  marry  the  little  Marie?" 
she  said,  in  an  unbelieving  voice,  and  she  nodded  towards  the  cap- 
tain and  his  companion  as  they  walked  on. 

"Why  should  it  not  be  true?"  Madame  Bobineau  was  so  indig- 
nant at  her  gossip's  tone  that  she  did  not  turn  to  see  how  quickly 
the  captain  had  moved  forward. 

Loigerot  seemed  to  himself  to  be  treading  on  air.  He  had  at  last 
got  Marie  alone  without  her  watchful  cousin,  and  he  felt  trium- 
phantly happy.  As  he  walked  on  he  was  constantly  receiving 
bows  and  greetings  from  his  acquaintance,  and  he  longed  to  an- 
nounce his  triumph,  to  say  to  his  friends,  "  This  charming  girl  has 
accepted  me  as  a  husband." 

"  Is  mademoiselle  amused?"  he  puflfed  out. 


AT   THE   RED    GLOVE.  199 

"Yes,  monsieur."  To  herself  she  said,  "If  I  could  only  get  rid 
of  you,  it  would  be  delighful." 

The  captain  stopped  to  speak  to  a  fat  old  gentleman,  -whose  straw 
hat  almost  swept  the  ground  as  he  took  it  off  and  bowed  to  Marie. 
The  girl's  eyes  met  this  old  fellow's  leer  of  admiration,  and  she 
longed  to  run  away  from  her  companion.  Every  moment  seemed 
to  be  adding  publicity  to  her  engagement,  and  to  be  making  it  more 
real  to  her.  She  looked  desperately  behind  her;  she  saw  Madame 
Bobineau  whispering  up  into  the  ear  of  her  tall  friend. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?"  she  was  asking. 

"Ah!" — Madame  Riesen  drew  herself  up — "that  is  what  I  ask 
myself.  When  I  agreed  to  come  for  the  sake  of  pleasing  our  gay 
widow,  I  imagined  she  would  be  satisfied  with  Monsieur  Enge- 
mann's  attentions.  I  assure  you  I  Avas  walking  quietly  with  Eu- 
gene, enjoying  myself — we  had  left  the  pair  of  lovers  seated  under 
a  tree — and  all  at  once  I  looked  round  to  point  out  something  to 
him,  and  he  was  gone." 

"  Gone  back  to  the  widow,  no  doubt.  Why  did  you  not  go  and 
look  for  him?" 

Madame  Riesen  shrugged  her  shoulders  for  answer.  She  pointed 
to  the  couple  in  front.     "That  is  a  settled  affair,  then?" 

Madame  Bobineau  nodded  her  head  repeatedly.  "Yes,  yes,  my 
good  friend.  You  do  not  think,  do  you,  that  I  should  permit  Marie 
to  walk  arm  in  arm  with  a  man  unless  he  had  engaged  to  marry  her 
— no."  She  took  a  huge  pinch  of  snuff.  "Marie  is  lucky,  is  she 
not?  Monsieur  Loigerot  is  a  man  of  property,  and  is  in  every  way 
a  desirable  match." 

"Yes,  3'cs,  my  dear  friend,  that  may  be  so;  but  he  is  far  too  old 
for  the  girl."  Just  now  Madame  Riesen  felt  so  convinced  that  her 
husband  had  stolen  back  to  the  widow  that  it  was  a  relief  to  be  able 
to  soften  her  own  vexation  by  tormenting  her  old  gossip.  "He 
would  be  better  suited  to  me  than  to  pretty  little  Marie.  Poor 
child,  I  pity  her!" 

"Poor  child,  indeed!  But  you  are  mistaken,  my  good  friend; 
they  are  as  fond  as  turtle-doves.  But  now  tell  me  something.  Did 
the  other  lovers  settle  the  matter  on  Sunday?" 

This  was  a  question  that  sorely  puzzled  the  clockraaker  and  his 
wife.  Madame  Riesen  had  reproached  her  husband  for  his  inter- 
ference, which  she  afHrmed  had  disturbed  the  natural  course  of 
events,  while  he  stoutly  maintained  that  the  widow  was  only  amus- 


200  -'^T   THE   RED    GLOVE. 

ing  herself,  and  had  no  real  affection  for  the  young  fellow.  But  the 
clockmaker's  wife  felt  that  she  must  keep  up  with  Madame  Bobi- 
neau  her  reputation  for  superior  information. 

"I  fancy  so;  but"— she  put  her  finger  to  her  pale  lips— "our 
beautiful  friend  is  reserved,  you  know.  Poor  thing,  I  pitied  her; 
Monsieur  Engemann  went  off  to  Bale  yesterday.  It  seemed  rather 
unloverlike,  I  must  say." 

"Perhaps  he  had  to  go  on  business,"  said  Madame  Bobineau. 
"By  the  way,  I  expected  to  hear  you  had  all  been  caught  in  the 
Btorm  on  Sunday." 

"We  got  a  little  of  it;  we  had  counted  on  a  walk  in  the  pine- 
wood,  and  of  course  that  was  impossible,  so  we  stayed  at  the  hotel 
till  the  storm  cleared  off,  and  this  rather  spoiled  sport  for  the  lovers." 

Madame  Bobineau  looked  slyly  out  of  her  narrow  eyes. 

"I  dare  say  your  husband  put  in  a  word  or  two  and  helped  the 
storm,"  she  said,  innocently. 

Madame  Riesen  tossed  her  head  like  an  impatient  horse. 

"Not  at  all;  it  was  not  that.  Of  course  Eugene  and  I  too  had 
words  to  say,  but  the  storm  drove  every  one  under  shelter,  and  very 
soon  the  room  was  full  of  strangers,  and  a  tete-d-tete  became  impos- 
sible. " 

"Ah!"  said  Madame  Bobineau.  "Well,  I  suppose  there  will 
soon  be  a  gay  wedding  at  the  Beauregard."  Then,  as  she  and  Ma- 
dame Riesen  came  abreast  of  the  captain  and  Marie,  she  said  to  him : 

"Monsieur  will  be  glad  to  hear  it  is  all  right  between  Monsieur 
Engemann  and  our  beautiful  widow.  Here  is  Madame  Riesen,  who 
wishes  to  offer  her  congratulations." 

"With  all  possible  pleasure,  monsieur,  and  may  I  say  monsieur 
has  chosen  a  charming  bride.  Mademoiselle  Marie,  you  ihust  per- 
mit me;"  she  bent  forward  and  kissed  the  girl.  Marie  was  taken  by 
surprise ;  she  blushed  with  anger  and  shame.  It  had  been  easier  than 
she  expected  to  accept  the  captain  as  a  lover,  but  she  had  not  guessed 
that  she  should  suffer  this  public  exhibition,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that 
he  was  showmg  her  off  with  smiling  triumph  as  his  property. 

"  It  is  unbearable,"  she  said,  keeping  back  her  tears  with  difficul- 
ty. "If  I  could  only  get  home  and  be  by  myself!  Perhaps  if  I 
ask  him  he  will  take  me  away;  he  is  a  kind  man,  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Madame,"  the  captain  was  saying,  pompously,  to  the  clock- 
maker's  wife,  "I  trust  that  the  enjoyment  of  Sunday  came  up  to 
your — your  expectations?" 


AT   THE   RED   GLOVE.  201 

"Yes — yes — certainly,  monsieur" — the  poor  woman  would  not 
confess  that  her  husband  had  been  as  sulky  as  a  bear,  and  that  the 
rain  had  damaged  the  new  mantle  she  had  put  on  for  the  excursion 
— "though  the  storm  upset  our  evening,  as  it  upset  monsieur's,  I 
fancy. " 

"Madame" — he  gave  what  he  meant  to  be  a  most  loving  glance 
at  Marie — "  I  was  in  such  bliss  last  Sunday  evening  that  the  weather 
was  indifferent  to  me — complotely  indifferent.  Ladies  " — he  gave  a 
bow  which  began  with  Marie  and  ended  with  Madame  Bobineau — 
"you  will  permit  me  to  offer  you  some  ices?  Farther  on  we  shall 
find  a  vacant  table  near  the  music.  Mademoiselle,  I  observe,  likes 
music."  He  pressed  Marie's  hand  with  his  arm,  and  looked  up  in. 
her  face. 

Marie  bowed.  At  least,  when  they  sat  down  he  must  let  go  her 
hand,  and  she  thought  when  they  rose  again  it  would  be  possible 
to  avoid  this  dreadful  walking  up  and  down  with  him. 

She  began  to  think  out  a  means  of  escape. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

STILL    ON    THE    TERRACE. 


Monsieur  Lenoir,  the  hair-dresser,  came  bustling  up  to  the  very 
spot  where  Captain  Loigcrot  and  his  companions  had  been  stand- 
ing. He  had  seen  them,  but  he  had  not  chosen  to  come  forvrard. 
He  considered  himself  ill-used.  Madame  Bobineau  had  not  been 
open  with  him.  He  had  been  a  good  friend  to  her — a  friend  such 
as  few  persons  possessed — he  had  not  forgotten  some  trifling  civili- 
ties she  had  shown  him  when  he  was  a  lad.  He  had  written  to  tell 
her  when  the  business  at  the  Red  Glove  was  offered  for  sale,  and  he 
had  arranged  and  facilitated  matters  for  her — he  had  certainly  ac- 
cepted a  commission  from  the  outgoer  for  having  procured  him  a 
tenant  —  and  he  considered  that  Madame  Bobineau  should  have 
taken  him  into  her  confidence  before  she  chose  a  husband  for  Ma- 
rie, or  at  least  after  the  affair  was  arranged. 

"There  has  been  something  more  in  it  than  meets  the  eye,"  he 
thought,  as  he  looked  on  to  where  the  three  ladies  were  seated  with 
the  captain  at  one  of  the  little  tables  near  the  edge  of  the  terrace. 
"I'll  wager  that  our  v/idow  had  a  hand  in  it.     Ah,  what  a  woman 


203  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

that  is!"  he  nodded  approvingly.  Monsieur  Lenoir's  father  had 
been  French,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  tlie  widow's  tactics  in  this 
affair  justified  her  nationality,  supposing  that  she  had  been  really 
afraid  of  Marie's  attractions  in  respect  to  Monsieur  Engemann.  "I 
can  hardly  think  that  of  Engemann,"  he  said;  "no  man  would 
choose  a  plum,  however  blooming,  before  a  luscious  peacli." 

He  looked  more  like  a  tomtit  than  ever,  as  he  walked  along,  his 
head  set  perkily  on  one  side,  and  his  black  eyes  glittering  keenly  in 
large,  dark  rings  that  circled  them.  All  at  once  his  beaky  nose  and 
his  thin,  pointed  chin  quivered  with  excitement.  He  had  suddenly 
remembered  the  encounter  at  the  Bear  Pit. 

"Aha!"  he  said,  "and  I  told  madame  about  it,  and  I  remember 
that  she  was  extra  languid  and  indifferent.  My  friend  Lenoir,  you 
were  at  fault;  it  is  not  so  long  ago,  and  now  Madame  Riesen  tells 
me  that  the  widow  is  certainly  going  to  marry  that  fair-haired  giant, 
who  had  his  hair  cut  the  other  day  in  Fribourg,  a  mere  passage- 
place  between  Berne  and  other  cities.  Pouf!  the  Goth!  as  if  fash- 
ion of  any  kind  could  be  found  there!" 

He  rubbed  his  hands  together  and  walked  on  the  toes  of  his  pol- 
ished boots,  for  his  costume  this  evening  was  very  elaborate.  "It 
seems  to  me  that  the  jolly  captain  is  in  my  debt.  I  may  have  been 
the  means  of  providing  the  little  Marie  with  a  husband.  Yes,  yes, 
my  friend  Lenoir,  it  was  probably  your  news  that  you  had  seen 
Marie  and  young  Engemann  together  that  set  the  widow  on  to  make 
this  marriage.  The  proof  will  be  to  see  the  two  couples  meet. 
Well,  that  must  happen  sooner  or  later,  unless  Madame  Carouge  has 
already  left  the  gardens;  she  looked  tired  enough  just  now." 

He  had  met  Madame  Carouge  and  liudolf  Engemann  near  tlie  en- 
trance, but  he  had  avoided  them.  Now  he  determined  to  go  in 
search  of  the  lovers,  and  to  witness  their  probable  meeting  with  the 
captain  and  Marie. 

"If  they  are  all  on  the  terrace  together  they  must  meet,"  he 
thought,  and  he  chuckled.  lie  felt  sure  "the  young  giant,"  as  he 
called  Rudolf,  would  feel  awkward  between  the  two  women.  Go- 
ing on  towards  the  music  platform  he  overtook  the  clockmaker. 

"  Good-evening,  my  friend;  you  seem  dull.  Are  you  looking  for 
Madame  Riesen?    I  can  tell  you  where  she  is." 

"Thank  you,  Lenoir,  you  are  very  kind."  Riesen  was  anxious 
to  get  rid  of  the  little  hairdresser.  "  I  left  her  not  long  ago.  I  have 
promised  to  seek  out  Madame  Carouge." 


AT   THE   RED   GLOVE.  203 

"  Come  along  with  me,  then,"  Lenoir  saitl ;  "  I  fancy  we  shall  fmd 
them  on  beyond  there." 

If  they  had  looked  into  the  gathering  shadows  under  the  trees 
they  would  have  seen  tlie  widow  and  Rudolf  Engemann  seated  on 
a  bench  at  that  end  of  the  terrace.  The  two  were  really  almost  in  a 
line  with  the  captain  and  his  party,  but  the  tree  under  which  they 
were  sitting  was  far  back— the  whole  width  of  the  terrace  lay  be- 
tween them  and  the  trio  round  the  table.  IMoreover,  IMadame  Ca- 
rouge  and  her  companion  sat  with  their  backs  to  the  promenade. 

Madame  Carouge  was  very  quiet  when  she  first  met  Rudolf  Enge- 
mann this  afternoon ;  the  delight  of  his  presence  overpowered  every 
other  feeling;  but  on  her  way  to  the  gardens  with  him  and  with  the 
Riesens  she  had  time  to  reflect  that  he  had  made  no  apology  for  his 
absence  on  the  previous  day;  and  it  had  seemed  to  her  when  tJicy 
parted  on  Sunday  that  only  a  few  words  were  needed  to  make  them 
all  in  all  to  each  other.  "Why  had  he  not  come  to  say  those  words? 
Tc-day  he  was  polite,  devoted  even,  in  manner,  but  she  felt  that  he 
had  gone  back  in  warmth. 

"  It  is  my  fault,  perhaps,"  she  thought.  "  I  am  still  too  reserved 
with  him,  poor  dear  fellow." 

She  roused  and  began  to  talk  with  much  animation  of  their  Sun- 
day's journey,  till  Rudolf  became  absorbed  in  listening  to  her— she 
brought  it  all  so  vividly  before  him. 

"  It  was  indeed  a  perfect  day,  madame;  but  I  regret  losing  that 
walk  in  the  pine-wood ;  though  perhaps  it  is  better  we  could  not  have 
it;  it  seems  the  more  to  be  desired  because  it  was  left  undone." 

"Do  you  wish  for  it,  then?"  she  said,  softly,  and  as  he  met  her 
eyes  their  wonderful  languid  charm  seemed  to  steal  into  his  soul. 

"Do  I?"  he  said.  "  When  one  has  experienced  the  enjoyment  I 
did  on  Sunday,  one  is  apt  to  wish  that  it  would  repeat  itself. " 

"  That  shall  be  when  you  please,"  she  said.  "  I  too  feel  that  our 
day  was  left  unfinished." 

She  looked  at  him,  and  again  he  thought  how  beautiful  she  was 
and  how  kind.  ' '  jMost  men  by  this  time  would  worship  such  a  woman ; 
well,  I  suppose  I  am  made  of  ice."  "  Madame  " — he  spoke  impul- 
sively— "how  good  and  kind  you  are!  Will  you  permit  me,  then, 
to  go  with  you  again  to  Thun,  and  next  time  we  will  try  to  finish 
our  day?" 

To  those  who  sat  on  the  terrace  it  looked  already  gloomy  under 


204  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

the  thickly  planted  trees;  but  there  was  plenty  of  light  there;  and 
Eugemann  saw  the  strong  effect  of  his  words  on  his  companion's 
face.  A  sudden  light  filled  her  eyes  and  a  flush  rose  on  her  cheeks, 
her  bosom  rose  and  fell  rapidly ;  then  she  looked  down  on  the  ground 
and  began  to  draw  i^atterus  with  the  point  of  her  parasol. 

Rudolf  started,  he  felt  as  if  some  one  had  suddenly  roused  him 
from  a  pleasant  dream.  "  What  am  I  doing?"  he  thought.  "  I  do 
not  love  this  woman ;  I  must  take  care — "  He  paused.  "  Why  do  I 
not  love  her?"  he  asked  himself.  He  moved  impatiently;  between 
him  and  the  glowing,  downcast  face  rose  the  sweet,  innocent  eyes 
of  Marie;  he  turned  as  if  from  a  spectre.  "  It  is  folly,  and  worse." 
Presently  he  said,  "  Are  you  quite  sure  that  Madame  Bobineau's 
niece  will  marry  Captain  Loigerot?"  He  had  uttered  his  thoughts 
aloud,  without  considering  the  abruptness  of  the  transition. 

Madame  Carouge  rose;  she  looked  imperious,  though  she  tried  to 
speak  gently.  "Let  us  go  on  to  the  terrace,  monsieur,"  she  said; 
"there  you  can  judge  for  yom-self.  I  heard  that  Captain  Loigerot 
was  to  be  here  this  evening;  we  shall  find  him,  probably  with  little 
Marie,  watching  for  the  sunset." 

Without  another  look  at  Rudolf  she  walked  across  to  the  terrace. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"the   aftek-glow." 


They  walked  across  the  grass  beneath  the  trees  till  they  came  out 
on  the  broad  promenade,  which,  Avhen  they  arrived  at  the  Schanzli, 
had  been  covered  with  groups  of  merry  people  chatting  to  one 
another  as  they  paced  up  and  down. 

Now  it  was  almost  deserted,  though  a  few  couples  still  lingered; 
but  these  had  seemingly  come  to  the  gardens  to  look  into  one 
another's  eyes;  and  it  was  surprising,  considering  the  steep  and 
tiring  road  they  must  have  climbed,  that  they  had  taken  the  trouble 
to  come  thus  far  for  such  a  purpose. 

Madame  Carouge  looked  round  with  impatience.  Not  among 
these  sentimental  lovers  should  she  find  the  captain  and  his  fiancee. 
She  glanced  on  to  the  edge  of  the  terrace,  and  she  could  have 
stamped  with  vexation.  It  was  literally  thronged  with  people 
staring  across  the  valley.     She  guessed  what  was  happening;   she 


AT  THE   EED    GLOVE.  205 

had  never  come  up  here  to  see  it,  but  she  knew  very  well  that  all 
these  "idiots,"  as  she  mentally  called  them,  were  waiting  to  see  the 
sun  set;  and  as  she  looked  she  saw  that  she  had  yet  some  time  to 
wait  before  they  could  meet  the  captain  and  Marie.  No  one  would 
be  likely  to  move  out  of  the  closely  packed  line  of  people  that  leaned 
on  the  wall  of  the  terrace  till  the  "after- glow  "  had  faded;  and  as 
yet  the  sun  had  not  set. 

Presently  there  was  a  hush  among  the  spectators.  The  light  clouds 
that  had  partly  veiled  the  mountains  had  floated  upward,  and  hung 
suspended  above  the  Jungf rau ;  they  gleamed  with  silvery  brilliance 
as  the  sun,  resting  opposite,  seemed  to  gaze  at  them  from  a  ridge 
which  glowed  darkly  purple  below  him. 

All  at  once  he  sank  behind  the  ridge,  and  then,  high  up  on  the 
snowy  peaks,  which  seemed  almost  in  heaven,  a  soft, rosy  light  shone 
out  of  the  glorious  mountains.  Each  moment  the  glow  deepened; 
the  lines  just  now  so  brilliant  in  silver  light  were  first  gold  and  then 
a  dazzling  flame-color,  the  dusky  terrace  was  suddenly  illumined, 
and  the  valley,  which  had  been  blurred  into  a  uniform  tint  of  olive, 
revealed  once  more  its  nestling  buildings  and  fi'inge  of  trees  below. 

A  murmur  ran  softly  along  the  line  of  gazers,  but  their  eyes  did 
not  stray  from  the  splendid  spectacle.  It  glowed  deeper  and  deeper, 
and  the  sky  was  luminous  with  golden-edged  scarlet  clouds. 

Then  came  a  sudden  change;  the  rosy  flames  that  seemed  to  have 
rushed  out  of  the  heart  of  the  snow -mountains  vanished ;  purple,  or, 
rather,  gradations  of  deep,  rich-toned  color  spread  up  from  the  base 
of  the  mountains  and  glowed  on  the  opposite  hills,  deepening  and 
darkening  every  moment,  not  so  startling  or  vivid  as  the  "after- 
glow" had  been,  but  yet  more  beautiful  in  richness  of  color. 

But  the  greater  part  of  the  crowd  did  not  see  this  beauty,  and  the 
closely  packed  line  soon  broke  up  again  into  groups  that  found 
gossip  about  their  own  affairs  or  those  of  their  neighbors  far  more  in- 
teresting than  the  splendid  study  of  color  in  the  sky  and  on  the 
mountains. 

Rudolf  Engemann,  however,  lingered;  the  purple  was  changing 
every  instant,  and  he  stood  gazing  in  an  ecstasy  of  admiration  at  the 
change.  He  could  not  have  defined  his  delight,  but  as  he  bent  for- 
ward, enjoying  it,  he  forgot  Madame  Carouge  altogether.  He  was 
under  a  spell,  and  he  felt  entranced. 

A  little  way  on  from  where  they  stood  was  the  table  from  which 
the  captain  and  his  party  had  risen  to  watch  the  sunset.     The  others 


206  AT  THE   RED    GLOVE, 

had  turned  away  from  it,  but  Marie  went  on  gazing  at  the  moun- 
tains; she  did  not  see  that  the  captain  was  waiting  for  her. 

The  purple  hue  faded  away  into  a  sombre  tone  that  would  have 
been  black  if  it  had  been  less  full  of  deep  color,  and  this  made  the 
golden  sky  yet  more  luminous,  and  the  pale,  faint  green  above 
ethereal  in  its  beautj'. 

"Marie,"  Madame  Bobineau  said,  sharply,  "do  you  not  hear? 
Monsieur  Loigerot  has  twice  offered  you  his  arm,  and  you  pay  no 
attention." 

'  Ah!" — the  girl  started.  "  I  beg  j^our  pardon,  monsieur. "  Then, 
seeing  that  he  looked  kindly  at  her,  she  turned  to  him  as  to  a  refuge 
from  the  old  vexed  face  of  her  cousin, 

"  It  is  nothing,  my  sweet  young  lady.  You — aw — you  consider, 
then,  this  sight  has  been  worth  coming  to  see?" 

He  stood  with  his  legs  very  wide  apart,  and  his  head  thrown  back, 
as  if  he  had  uttered  a  question  that  it  would  puzzle  her  to  answer. 

The  intense  beauty  Marie  had  been  enjoying  had  filled  her  eyes 
with  tears,  but  she  could  not  help  smiling  into  the  captain's  broad, 
bronzed  face. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  monsieur,"  she  said;  "  I  am  glad  we  stayed  to  see 
it."  Then  she  added,  for  this  seemed  a  good  opportunity  for  getting 
away,  "  It  is  time  to  go  home,  I  think." 

She  said  this  to  him  with  a  little  feeling  of  triumph,  for  she  felt 
that  the  captain  would  comply  with  her  wish  even  if  it  went  against 
that  of  Madame  Bobineau. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,  if  j'ou  wish  it,"  he  answered. 

Marie  had  spoken  a  minute  too  late.  Without  looking  round  she 
knew  that  Madame  Bobineau  was  shaking  hands  with  some  one, 
and  now  the  captain  looked  sharply  round  as  a  hand  touched  his 
shoulder. 

Monsieur  Riesen  stood  beside  him,  and  in  front  was  Monsieur 
Lenoir,  bowing  low  to  Marie  and  also  to  Loigerot,  with  an  indescrib- 
able mixture  of  malice  and  amusement  in  his  bright,  restless  eyes. 

"Permit  me  to  congratulate  you,  monsieiu'."  Then  to  Marie, 
"Mademoiselle,  you  have  my  best  wishes." 

Riesen  said  this  with  a  fatherly,  protecting  air,  while  his  "wife  kept 
up  an  accompaniment  of  "Yes,  yes;  Eugene  has  come  to  offer  you 
his  congratulations;  yes,  yes,  that  is  as  it  should  be." 

"It  is  so  delightful  to  see  people  "well-matched,"  said  Lenoir,  in 
his  jerky,  impertinent  way. 


AT   THE   RED    GLOVE.  207 

Madame  Riesen  frowned  at  him,  but  Marie  felt  that  she  could  no 
longer  stand  still  to  be  stared  at  and  congratulated.  "  They  are  all 
trying  to  torment  me,"  she  thought.  Her  cheeks  burned.  "It  is 
not  to  be  borne,"  she  said  to  herself,  but  she  had  placed  her  hand 
within  the  captain's  arm,  and,  as  if  he  suspected  her  feelings,  he  tight- 
ened his  pressure  so  that  she  could  not  draw  away  her  hand  without 
his  knowledge. 

"Let  us  walk  down  to  the  end  of  the  terrace," Madame  Rieseu 
whispered  to  the  old  woman;  "  the  music  is  too  noisy  here." 

"I  cannot  leave  Marie,  and  we  must  soon  be  going  home,"  said 
Madame  Bobineau,  repressively. 

"  Ta,  ta,  my  dear  friend;  we  have  only  to  lead  the  way,  the  others 
will  follow." 

She  knew  that  her  husband  Avould  oppose  any  suggestion  she 
might  make,  and  she  was  completely  weary  of  her  old  friend's  so- 
ciety. Among  the  groups  now  coming  up  to  listen  to  the  music  she 
hoped  to  find  a  more  amusing  companion. 

"  Shall  we  go  this  Avay,  and  then  turn  and  make  for  the  gate,"  said 
Madame  Bobineau  to  the  captain. 

Lenoir  smiled  and  chuckled.  He  knew  that  Madame  Carouge 
must  be  at  that  end  of  the  terrace,  for  he  had  just  come  in  the  op- 
posite direction,  and  he  had  looked  there  in  vain  for  the  command- 
ing figure  of  the  young  Swiss. 

Madame  Bobineau  and  her  friend  walked  so  completely  in  front  of 
her  that  Marie  now  felt  sheltered.  She  was  not  shy  of  the  captain 
among  so  many  strange  people. 

"  It  is  pleasanter  to  walk  without  stopping,"  she  said;  "does  not 
monsieur  think  so?"     She  smiled  at  him  as  she  spoke. 

"  What  a  little  duck?"  the  captain  said  to  himself.  "I  believe  she 
is  really  fond  of  me ;  the  old  woman  said  she  was. " 

"Mademoiselle  Marie  "—he  tugged  at  his  mustache — "  it  is  as  you 
say;  it  will  always  be  as  you  say,  and  as  you  wish,  for  me;  you  are 
as  wise  as  you  are  beautiful,  and — and  wisdom  is  even  more  rare 
than  beauty  in  a  young  lady  of  your — your  years." 

He  had  puffed  out  his  cheeks  in  uttering  this  unusually  long 
speech,  till  Marie  could  not  keep  in  her  laughter;  but  she  laughed 
so  merrily  and  pleasantly  that  the  captain  took  it  in  good  part,  and 
squeezed  her  hand  so  tightly  and  with  a  look  of  devotion  so  ardent 
that  a  bright  blush  rose  on  her  fair  face. 
There  was  a  rustling  of  silken  skirts  close  at  hand,  an  exclama- 


208  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

tion,  and  Marie's  eyes  dilated  as  she  looked  oa  before  her.  Madame 
Bobineau  was  not  to  be  seen,  but  Madame  Carouge  was  holding  out 
her  hand  to  the  captain.  The  girl  looked  up,  and  she  felt  scorched 
and  withered.  JVIonsieur  Engemann  stood  beside  the  beautiful  widow, 
and  the  girl  met  his  eyes,  full  of  angry  scorn. 

"Good-evening,  Captain  Loigerot."  Madame  Carouge  looked  at 
Marie  as  she  spoke.  ' '  I  congratulate  you ;  this  is  as  it  should  be. 
It  is  a  pleasure,  my  dear,  to  see  your  happiness,"  she  added,  to  the 
girl. 

Marie  trembled,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

Engemann  bit  his  lip  fiercely.  "  It  is  true,  then,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "she  cares  for  this  pompous  old  satyr." 

The  captain  was  bowing  very  low.  "Madame,  I  thank  you 
a  thousand  times,  madame  —  a  thousand  times,  madame!  I  am  a 
proud  and  happy  man  to-night."  He  stood  on  tiptoe  and  tried  to 
whisper  to  the  widow,  but  his  words  reached  Engemann.  "My — 
my  rosebud  is  all  that  I  could  wish.  And  you,  madame,"  he  raised 
his  voice  and  looked  knowingly  at  Rudolf,  "you,  I  hope,  are  hap- 
py as  we  are."  He  glanced  fondly  at  Marie,  but  her  eyes  were  bent 
on  the  ground.  "Sweet  little  dove,  she  is  shy," he  thought;  "  she 
does  not  like  to  be  stared  at."  "  Come,  Engemann,  have  you  not  a 
w^ord  of  congratulation  for  us?" 

"  I,  monsieur!"  Engemann  looked  very  stern,  but  he  managed  a 
grim  smile.  "On  the  contrary,  I  have  many  for  you  both.  I  am 
glad  you  can  be  so  easily  happy." 

He  said  this  mockingly,  and  he  went  on  in  the  opposite  direction, 
with  Madame  Carouge  on  his  arm.  He  strode  along,  frowning 
heavily  as  he  looked  on  the  ground. 

"Well,"  said  Madame  Carouge,  "are  you  convinced?  They  are 
engaged,  and  Marie  is  quite  content,  you  see." 

He  did  not  answer. 

The  widow  glanced  at  him  without  turning  her  head,  but  she  did 
not  again  venture  to  intrude  into  his  thoughts.  She  felt  afraid  of 
him  in  that  moment. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  he  must  have  cared  for  this  simple-faced 
child,  or  he  would  not  be  so  disturbed  by  the  certainty  of  her  en- 
gagement to  Captain  Loigerot. 

Madame  Carouge  suffered  keenly ;  after  all  the  love  she  had  be- 
trayed to  him  he  seemed  to  be  slipping  away  from  her.  Her  passion 
sought  to  hold  him,  and  yet  her  pride  kept  her  restrained.     But  she 


i 


AT   THE    KED    GLOVE.  209 

loved  him  too  dearly  to  sacrifice  the  hope  of  his  love  to  her  pride, 
and  yet  not  even  her  absorption  in  him  could  teach  her  how  best  to 
approach  him  now.  She  walked  beside  him,  silent,  Avilh  the  timid, 
downcast  air  of  a  child  expecting  reproof. 

At  last  she  said,  and  her  voice  sounded  tearful,  "Need  we  walk 
quite  so  fast?" 

Rudolf  started  out  of  his  reverie.  At  that  moment  he  was  in 
reality  nearer  to  Madame  Carouge  than  he  had  ever  been.  As  he 
strode  along  he  had  upbraided  himself  for  his  infatuation;  he  had 
called  himself  a  fool  in  respect  of  ]Marie,  and  a  brute  with  regard  to 
Madame  Carouge.  He  had  been  cold  to  this  tender,  loving  woman, 
for  the  sake  of  a  girl  who  had  sold  herself  to  a  gray  beard,  and  who 
was  evidently  rejoicing  in  the  bargain  she  had  made.  As  he  re- 
called the  laugh  he  had  seen  on  Marie's  face,  and  the  captain's  amor- 
ous glances,  Rudolf  frowned  once  more  heavily. 

The  widow  saw  the  frown  and  she  sighed.  He  turned  quickly  to 
her. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  madame;  I  ought  not  to  have  walked  so 
fast.  How  thoughtless  I  am!  I  must  have  tired  you  past  endurance; 
forgive  me;  indeed,  I  have  much  to  ask  pardon  for." 

She  gave  him  a  tender,  timid  smile. 

"  It  is  no  matter;  I  am  not  tired;  but  I  believe  I  must  say  good- 
night now.  I  seem  to  be  sadly  unfortunate ;  I  hoped  this  evening 
would  have  given  you  pleasure,  you  who  admire  beauty  so  ardently, 
and  instead — "     She  hesitated. 

"  It  is  not  your  fault  that  it  has  not  given  me  unmixed  pleasure." 

He  pressed  with  his  other  hand  the  fingers  that  lay  within  his 
arm. 

"In  some  way  or  another  I  fear  it  has  given  you  pain,"  she  said, 
plaintively,  but  her  eyes  shone  with  joy. 

"What  a  lovely,  loving  woman!"  he  thought;  and  his  feelings 
showed  in  his  eyes;  "how  little  I  deserve  such  goodness!"  "No, 
madame,"  he  said,  impulsively,  "you  have  been  all  that  is  kind  and 
sweet,  and  I  have  been  cold  and  ungrateful.  I  am  not  myself  this 
evening.     I  must  ask  you  to  forgive  me." 

"  I?"  She  gave  him  one  tender  glance.  "No,  no,"  she  said,  "  I 
have  nothing  to  forgive.  I  only  wished  to  make  you  happy,  and— 
and — "  She  hesitated;  tender,  ardent  words  were  on  her  tongue, 
but  she  checked  them ;  she  felt  that  she  was  on  the  edge  of  her  fate, 
and  she  wished  to  prolong  these  delicious  moments.    "I,"  she  £;aid. 


210  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

quietly,  "only  wished  to  make  you  happy,  and  I  do  not  think," 
she  added,  with  a  little  laugh  which  was  pathetic,  for  it  tried  to  hide 
how  intensely  she  felt — "I  do  not  think  I  quite  know  the  way;  do 
I?" 

He  released  her  hand  from  his  arm,  and  then  he  took  it  between 
his  own. 

"What  can  I  say  to  such  sweetness?"  his  voice  was  hoarse  but 
full  of  feeling.  "  Will  you  forgive  me  all  my  rudeness,  all  my  cold- 
ness?" He  bent  over  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  "I  will  try  to  de- 
serve all  your  goodness." 

Madame  Carouge  could  not  speak;  this  sudden  change  took  away 
her  breath.  She  felt  lifted  off  the  earth  into  that  paradise  of  warm, 
rosy  love  which  the  glowing  mountains  had  awhile  ago  pictured  to 
her.  It  is  strange  to  find  how  many-voiced  is  any  grand  spectacle 
of  nature  as  it  reveals  itself  to  the  varied  minds  that  drink  in  its 
message  through  their  eyes. 

She  looked  up  suddenly  at  her  companion,  but  she  did  not  meet 
his  eyes.  He  was  gazing  far  off  at  the  purple  mass  that  girdled  in 
the  scene,  and  made  even  the  terrace  gloomy. 

"  It  will  soon  be  dark,"  he  said,  gravely.  The  sudden  glow  tow- 
ards his  companion  had  died  away. 

She  was  not  thrown  back  now  as  she  had  been  on  former  occa- 
sions by  his  change  of  manner.  The  spell  of  his  presence  subdued 
her  will,  even  her  sensations,  into  union  with  his.  She  answered 
him  in  the  same  tone : 

"Yes,  it  is  getting  dark.  I  will  go  home.  Monsieur  Riesen  will 
see  after  the  carriage." 

Engeraann  bowed,  and  they  went  on  along  the  terrace.  She  was 
silent  from  joy;  at  last  she  knew  that  he  loved  her.  Perhaps  he  had 
always  loved  her,  and  only  the  doubt  and  fear  of  her  own  love  had 
clouded  her  sight  with  this  foolish  w\ant  of  confidence.  That  kiss 
on  her  hand  had  thrilled  through  her  being;  it  had  been  the  seal  of 
their  love,  she  thought,  and  she  emptied  her  heart  of  the  dark  fears 
it  had  harbored,  and  sighed  softly  with  almost  a  weight  of  joy. 

"Ah!  here  is  Monsieur  Riesen,"  Rudolf  said. 

The  husband  and  wife  were  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  prom- 
enade, now  almost  deserted,  for  though  the  music  had  only  just 
ceased,  people  were  leaving  the  gardens. 

"At  last  we  have  found  you,"  cried  the  clockmaker's  wife,  com- 
ing forward ;  and  the  widow  thought  her  cackling  voice  clattered 


3 


AT   THE    BED   GLOVE.  211 

harshly  into  the  delicious  silence.  "A  pair  of  truants,  indeed. 
But  I  suppose  we  must  excuse  them;  eh,  Eugene?" 

"Don't  be  a  fool,"  her  husband  muttered. 

"Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  find  the  carriage?"  Madame 
Carouge  said  to  him.  "I  must  go  home.  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so 
late." 

But  the  clockmaker  felt  that  this  was  the  last  straw,  and  that  he 
could  not  carry  it.  His  evening  had  been  altogether  hateful  to 
him,  and  he  had  been  obliged  to  admit  to  himself  that,  after  all,  his 
wife  was  right,  and  that  Engemann  was  in  earnest  in  his  pursuit  of 
the  widow ;  he  had  not  once  left  her  side  during  the  evening.  Rie- 
sen  looked  at  Madame  Carouge,  and  he  saw  how  subdued  she  was, 
and  how  young  and  happy  she  looked ;  he  felt  veiy  angry. 

"Engemann,  my  good  fellow,"  he  said,  "I  have  a  weak  ankle, 
and  I  should  be  glad  to  rest  it  while  Pierre  puts  the  horse  in.  I 
told  him  he  might  put  it  up,  and  enjoy  himself  in  the  gardens.  Can 
you  find  him,  do  you  think?"  '' Diable!"  he  said  to  himself;  "  that 
fellow  shall  earn  his  salt  somehow." 

Engemann  was  gone  before  Madame  Carouge  could  speak.  To 
her  dismay,  she  found  herself  alone  with  Madame  Riesen  and  her 
husband. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

MISSING. 

When  Rudolf  Engemann  passed  on  with  the  widow  on  his  arm, 
the  captain  stood  still,  with  his  mouth  wide  open,  and  a  look  of  dis- 
pleasure on  his  broad,  full-moon  face. 

Riesen  had  walked  on  sullenly  beside  his  wife,  and  Lenoir  was  on 
the  other  side  of  Madame  Bobineau.  The  old  woman  was  whisper- 
ing to  her  friend,  and  Lenoir  was  dying  to  hear  what  she  said. 

They  had  been  all  too  much  occupied  with  themselves  to  notice 
what  had  happened  behind  them,  and,  indeed,  the  flow  of  people 
coming  up  from  the  end  of  the  terrace,  eager  to  leave  the  gardens, 
had  by  this  time  completely  parted  them  from  the  captain  and 
Marie. 

"Ma  foi!"  Loigerot  exclaimed— and  between  his  teeth  he  uttered 
some  very  strong  words — "what  does  the  fellow  mean,  sneering  at 
a  gentleman?    And — and  he  owes  me  explanation,  and  he  shall  give 


212  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

it,  or — "  And  again  a  strong  word  came  out,  louder  than  before,  as 
he  put  his  hand  to  where  his  sword-hilt  should  have  been. 

He  had  not  felt  in  such  a  rage  since  he  left  the  army,  and  for  a 
minute  he  forgot  where  he  was;  the  whole  scene  became  blurred 
and  confused,  and  he  longed  to  have  it  out  with  "this  insolent  lub- 
ber," as  he  termed  him,  who  doubtless  had  never  used  a  sword  in 
his  life.  Captain  Loigerot  was  rather  obtuse,  but  his  position  this 
evening  had  sharpened  his  perceptions,  and  in  his  sympathy  for 
Marie's  sensitiveness  he  had  become  quick -sighted;  he  had  seen 
ridicule  on  some  of  the  faces  of  those  who  congratulated  him,  and 
the  malicious  sarcasm,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  of  Engemann  had  stung 
him  keenly.  It  was  evident  that  this  young  man,  rich  in  personal 
advantages,  happy  in  the  love  of  a  beautiful  woman,  despised  him 
and  disbelieved  in  his  good-fortune. 

For  an  instant — as  he  stood  bristling  with  anger  from  head  to 
foot — Loigerot  saw  himself  as  he  appeared  to  Rudolf,  middle-aged 
and  doting,  fooled  into  the  belief  that  he  was  loved  for  himself. 
The  idea  was  momentary,  but  it  took  his"  thoughts  at  once  back  to 
Marie.  Her  hand  no  longer  rested  on  his  arm,  and  as  he  looked 
round  quickly  and  witli  sudden  alarm,  he  saw  that  she  was  not 
beside  him. 

"Diable!"  he  exclaimed,  and  the  color  deepened  on  his  face. 
"What!  Why!  Where  is  my  little  dove?"  He  looked  eagerly 
about  him,  but  close  by  was  Madame  Webern,  the  pastry-cook,  and 
Loigerot  was  far  too  old  a  soldier  to  let  this  gossiping  Avoman  per- 
ceive his  discomfiture.  He  bowed  to  her,  and  then  he  looked  tow- 
ards the  table  and  chairs  where  they  had  been  sitting.  They  were 
empty.  Loigerot  tried  to  hide  his  discomfiture,  for  although  people 
were  going  away  fast,  still  he  met  an  acquaintance  here  and  there. 
He  had  been  so  triumphant  all  the  evening,  he  must  not  betray  to 
these  curious  eyes  any  uneasiness  in  his  search  for  Marie. 

"Poor  little  dove,"  he  said  to  himself;  he  felt  in  great  need  of 
pacifying  words.  "Poor  little  angel;  no  doubt  she  was  tired,  and 
she  does  not  like  to  be  stared  at.  She  has  gone  after  Madame  Bobi- 
ncau.  Yes,  that  is  it,  she  has  gone  after  the  old  woman;  but  she 
should  not  have  slipped  away  from  me.  It  will  soon  be  dark.  It 
is  most  improper.  Well,  well,  the  sweet  child  is  young  and  does 
not  know." 

It  had  been  arranged  between  Madame  Bobineau  and  the  captain 
that  they  should  all  v/alk  home  together  by  the  lower  bridge,  for 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  213 

Loigerot  had  not  found  his  drive  to  the  gardens  amusing — the  two 
ladies  behind  and  he  perched  up  beside  the  coachman. 

He  stood  still,  thinking  what  he  should  do.  The  ladies  were  pos- 
sibly tired  of  w-aiting  and  had  gone  home  alone.  The  idea  of  Marie 
walking  in  the  dark  with  no  better  protector  than  "old  Bobineau," 
as  he  called  her,  tilled  the  captain  with  alarm  and  quickened  his 
faculties.  He  rolled  along  to  the  end  of  the  terrace  walk,  and  then 
back  again ;  and  after  a  keen  search  among  the  remaining  stragglers 
he  hurried  to  the  entrance  of  the  gardens,  always  looking  for  the 
tall  figure  in  a  pale-gray  gown.  But  he  could  not  see  either  Marie 
or  Madame  Bobineau.  As  he  hastened  along  he  saw  the  Riesens 
and  Madame  Carouge  standing  together,  but  they  did  not  see  him, 
and  he  avoided  them. 

"I  am  not  going,"  he  said  to  himself,  "to  let  that  long-tongued 
gossip,  Madame  Riesen,  know  of  my  mischance  with  Marie,"  and  he 
hurried  on. 

Duty  was  paramount  with  the  captain.  He  had  lost  Marie  by 
his  own  carelessness;  it  w^ashis  place  to  find  her,  and  he  must  find 
her  without  delay.  At  first  he  had  been  more  startled  than  trou- 
bled. After  his  diligent  search  through  the  gardens  had  failed,  he 
guessed  that  she  had  gone  away  with  Madame  Bobineau.  But  al- 
though his  lack  of  imagination  did  not  enable  him  to  conjure  up 
the  doubt  and  dread  which  might  have  affected  a  more  sensitive 
lover,  his  common-sense  rarely  failed  him,  and  by  the  time  he  had 
reached  the  bridge  across  the  Aar  he  felt  puzzled  and  anxious,  un- 
able to  decide  what  he  had  best  do. 

The  unaccustomed  speed  at  which  he  had  walked  no  doubt  added 
to  his  disturbance,  but  still,  even  supposing  that  Madame  Bobineau 
had  quitted  the  gardens  when  he  missed  Marie,  he  must  long  ago 
have  overtaken  the  runaways.  He  stood  still  on  the  bridge,  puffing 
and  panting;  perhaps  it  would  be  best  to  go  back  and  ask  Riesen's 
help  in  finding  them,  for,  after  all,  they  might  have  sat  down  to 
wait  for  him  in  some  out-of-the-way  corner.  But  even  as  he  turned 
back  to  carry  out  this  idea  a  new  and  more  hopeful  thought  came. 
Madame  Bobineau  had  complained  of  fatigue  as  they  sat  drinking 
lemonade,  and  Marie  had  asked  him  to  take  her  home.  Was  it  not 
more  than  likely  that  some  friend  leaving  in  a  carriage  had  offered . 
the  old  woman  and  her  charge  seats,  and  that  she  had  carried  off 
Marie  with  her? 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "  She  is  a  wary  old  bird,"  he  said  to 

9 


214  AT    THE    RED    GLOVE. 

himself.  "She  sees  I  am  secure,  and  she  no  longer  studies  my 
wishes.  Well,  well,  I  shall  have  the  marriage  fixed  a  fortnight 
hence.  I  want  my  little  girl  to  myself,  out  of  the  reach  of  the  old 
hag." 

All  this  time  he  was  hurrying  along  by  the  short  way  to  the 
Spitalgasse— this  was  up  a  flight  of  steep  steps  in  the  lofty  green 
bank  on  which  stand  the  houses  and  churches  of  Berne  looking 
down  into  the  poplar-fringed  Aar.  Loigerot's  face  had  become 
purple  with  exertion,  and  he  gasped  when  he  reached  the  top  of  the 
steps.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  stood  still  to  recover  his  breath,  for 
although  it  was  dusk  the  heat  still  lingered,  with  the  strange  atmos- 
pheric pressure  that  threatens  storm. 

" Poufr  he  gasped;  "you  forget  your  extra  weight,  my  friend 
Achille,  and  the  years  since  you  were  at  the  Malakoff.  Biable! 
perhaps  it  is  love  that  helps  to  make  my  heart  beat;  that  is  too 
amusing,  you  old  dog;"  and  he  laughed  heartily  in  ^pite  of  his 
breathless  condition.  "Well,  well" — he  wiped  his  bald  head  and 
put  on  his  hat  again — "to  work,  my  friend;  it  is  a  hard  end  to  a 
day's  pleasure,  but  the  reward  will  be  the  sweeter,  and  the  little 
rogue  shall  pay  me  in  kisses.  Ah!"  He  smacked  his  lips  heartily, 
and  hurried  on  iij  his  rolling  fashion  to  the  Red  Glove. 

The  big  red  sign  looked  almost  scornful  and  threatening  to  the. 
captain  as  a  ray  from  the  gas  lamp  glinted  on  it. 

Loigerot  knocked  twice,  but  no  answer  came.  He  knocked  more 
loudly  a  third  time.  " Diable!"  he  said;  "this  grows  serious;  but 
I  have  perhaps  arrived  first."  He  looked  up  again  at  the  Red 
Glove.  Something  in  the  aspect  of  the  bloated  sign  made  him 
shake  his  clinched  fist  at  it.  It  seemed  to  mock  him.  He  stood 
stiU,  gazing,  while  his  face  grew  yet  more  angry,  and  he  turned 
away.  "  I  am  not  going  to  be  made  a  fool  of,  and  I'll  never  be 
laughed  at  by  an  old  she-devil  of  a  glover.  She  is  gorging  herself 
with  supper,  no  doubt." 

His  sturdy  legs  were  very  wide  apart  as  he  opened  the  private 
door  with  his  pass-key. 

"  Madame  Bobineau!  Madame  Bobineau!"  He  roared  and  shouted 
her  name  down-stairs,  in  the  kitchen,  up-stairs.  He  had  lost  all  self- 
control,  and  he  even  knocked  at  Engemann's  door. 

The  house  was  like  a  grave — dark,  silent,  and  stifling  in  its  atmos- 
phere, for  every  window  had  been  closely  shut  by  the  old  glover  be- 
fore she  left  home. 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  215 

Loigerot  came  slowly  down  -  stairs  a  little  ashamed  of  his  excite- 
ment ;  he  stood  thinking  on  the  mat  in  the  passage. 

All  at  once  he  opened  the  door,  closed  it  behind  him,  and  hurry- 
ing up  the  street  he  turned  to  the  left,  and  soon  reached  the  flight  of 
steps  leading  down  to  Marie's  lodgings.  He  had  watched  her  home 
more  than  once,  but  when  he  arrived  at  the  door  of  the  house  he 
had  seen  her  enter,  he  felt  that  this  proceeding  was  open  to  objec- 
tion: would  it  not  be  injurious  to  Marie  if  any  one  saw  him  at  the 
door  of  her  lodgings? 

"It  is  dark,"  he  said,  "and  there  are  not  many  people  about," and 
he  knocked. 

The  door  was  slowly  opened.     "  Who  is  there?"  a  voice  asked. 

"Is  Mademoiselle  Marie  Peyrolles  at  home?" 

The  captain  could  not  distinguish  anything  in  the  dark  passage 
through  the  half-opened  door. 

"No," and  the  door  began  to  close. 

Loigerot  put  his  foot  just  within.  "I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said, 
politely,  "  but  are  you  sure  ?  The  young  lady  may  have  come  in 
without  your  knowledge." 

"  That  is  not  possible,"  the  croaking  voice  said;  "she  has  no  key." 

"  You  are  quite  sure,  madame?  some  one  else  may  have  opened 
the  door  for  her.  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  go  and  inquire  if 
she  is  within?" 

There  was  a  pause,  then  a  grunt  came  from  the  speaker;  the  door 
was  closed,  and  he  heard  a  heavy  step  going  up-stairs. 

He  waited  with  a  smile  of  relief.  "  It  is  all  right,"  he  said;  " no 
doubt  the  old  woman  has  seen  her  home,  and  has  then  gone  off  to 
some  of  her  gossips.  Poor  little  girl,  it  is  horrible  to  think  of  her 
being  lodged  in  such  quarters;  but  we  will  make  all  that  right  be- 
fore long.     Ah!  here  she  comes." 

The  door  opened  again  and  he  felt  radiant,  but  the  same  harsh 
voice  jerked  out :  ' '  She  has  not  come  in ;  she's  not  in  her  room, " 
and  the  door  was  shut  in  his  face. 

The  captain  stood  looking  blankly  at  the  door.  So  far  he  had 
followed  instinct,  and  had  felt  a  sort  of  blundering  surprise  at  his 
own  cleverness.  Now  he  looked  as  clumsy  and  as  helpless  as  a  per- 
forming bear  when  he  has  played  out  all  his  antics.  There  is  noth- 
ing to  be  done  in  the  bear's  case  but  to  repeat  his  performance,  and 
the  only  idea  that  came  to  Captain  Loigerot  was  that  he  must  go 
back  to  the  gardens  and  begin  his  search  over  again. 


316  AT    THE    RED    GLOVE. 

"I  came  by  the  short  way,  as  we  had  settled  to  come, "he  said, 
with  self-reproach,  "and  they  may  have  kept  to  the  road  and  gone 
across  by  the  upper  bridge."  He  tugged  at  his  mustaches,  seeking 
his  usual  counsel  from  them.  It  was  evident  that  Madame  Bobineau 
and  Marie  were  together,  for  they  were  both  missing. 

The  captain  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief,  and  holding  his  head 
erect  he  rolled  down  the  street,  resolved  to  follow  it  to  its  end,  and 
thus  lose  no  chance  of  seeing  the  fugitives  in  the  event  of  their  be- 
ing in  a  carriage. 

"  Sacre  !"  he  muttered ;  "  it  was  all  the  fault  of  that  idea  of  walking 
home.  Achille,  when  wilt  thou  learn  to  be  reasonable,  and  to  re- 
member that  thou  art  no  longer  twenty  years  of  age,  and  that  little 
Marie  is  not  taken  with  thy  bright  eyes,  as  some  others  were  years 
ago?  But  —  hut,  ma foi," he  nodded  complacently,  "I  caught  her 
several  times  smiling  at  me,  little  dear.  When  a  girl  is  shy  she  is 
the  devil  for  hiding  her  feelings,  but  they  peep  out  spite  of  her  cau- 
tion.    Well,  well,  the  shy  game  will  soon  be  over." 

He  did  not  walk  back  as  fast  as  he  had  come.  When  he  had 
turned  and  was  on  his  way  to  the  bridge  beneath  the  railway,  he  be- 
gan to  meet  scattered  groups  who  were  returning  from  the  Schanzli. 

"  del !  where  are  they?"  said  the  captain,  between  his  teeth.  "It 
is  most  extraordinary." 

He  had  just  reached  the  suspension  -  bridge.  Lights  were  twink- 
ling among  the  houses  on  the  opposite  bank,  and  a  murmur  of 
voices  came  up  from  the  poplar  -  fringed  walk  far  below  beside  the 
river.  There  was  a  cold  gleam  on  the  water,  wholly  unlike  its  usual 
aspect.  The  bridge  vibrated  as  the  sound  of  a  carriage  was  heard 
coming  across  it;  the  gas  lamp  at  this  end  was  lit,  and  Loigerot 
stood  under  it,  ready  to  examine  the  occupants  of  the  coming 
vehicle. 

As  the  carriage  emerged  from  the  covered  bridge  and  was  passing 
him,  a  cry  was  heard  from  within. 

"Captain,  captain,"  "Monsieur  Loigerot, "  and  from  the  box  Le- 
noir joined  in  the  duet  between  Riesen  and  Madame  Bobineau  in 
the  carriage. 

Lenoir  stopped  the  coachman ;  but  by  the  time  Loigerot  stood  at 
the  carriage  door  Madame  Bobineau  had  sunk  down  in  a  heap  and 
was  shaking  with  terror.  She  had  seen  that  the  captain  was  alone. 
She  could  not  get  out  a  word. 

"Here  you  are  at  last,"  said  Loigerot,  joyfully. 


AT  THE    KED   GLOVE.  217 

"  Where  is  Mademoiselle  Marie?"  said  the  clockmaker. 

"What  have  you  done  with  the  little  one?"  his  wife  cried. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Lenoir,  with  a  grin;  "we  are  anxious;" 

Madame  Carouge  did  not  say  a  word,  but  her  face  looked  white  in 
the  gloom  as  she  peered  out  at  the  captain. 

He  literally  trembled,  but  he  did  not  speak.  He  felt  devoutly 
thankful  to  Madame  Riesen's  cackle.  It  gave  him  time  to  face  the 
situation  at  all  points,  for,  in  addition  to  the  dread  of  giving  food 
for  gossip,  natural  to  a  man  of  his  age  and  circumstances,  as  he  re- 
covered from  the  shock  of  his  discovery,  he  felt  keenly  that  Marie's 
good  character  was  involved  in  her  disappearance.  A  sudden  in- 
spiration came  to  him. 

"This  is  amusing"  —  he  forced  a  smile —  "I  came  to  find  you, 
Madame  Bobineau.  Mademoiselle  Marie  wants  you,  and  I  have 
something  to  tell  you  as  we  go  along.  Come,  let  me  take  you  home. 
You  will  not  mind  a  little  walk." 

He  opened  the  carriage  door  and  let  down  the  steps;  then  he  took 
the  old  woman's  hand  and  drew  her  out  in  such  a  masterful  way 
that  she  meekly  obeyed. 

"But  you  will  be  tired,  madame;"  the  widow  spoke  sweetly,  in 
the  sudden  relief  that  had  come  to  her  with  the  captain's  words,  for 
just  now  she  had  been  seized  with  a  horrible  fear  when  she  saw 
Captain  Loigerot  standing  alone  under  the  gaslight.  "  Good-night," 
she  said,  as  the  carriage  rolled  away. 

''Moil  Dieu  !"  said  Madame  Bobineau;  "  it  is  such  a  relief  to  hear 
that  the  dear  child  is  safe.  When  I  saw  you  alone  I  nearly  fainted. 
I  sent  Monsieur  Lenoir  to  find  you ;  and  when  he  came  back  with- 
out tidings  I  said  to  myself,  ' Mon  Dieu!  it  is  all  right;  Marie  is 
with  the  captain;  he  will  take  care  of  her;  he  is  almost  her  hus- 
band.'    So  I  came  along  with  Madame  Carouge." 

"  Please  to  tell  me,  madame  " — the  captain's  voice  w^as  very  harsh, 
and  his  manner  was  rude — "what  all  this  means?  Where  is  Marie? 
What  have  you  done  with  the  little  girl?  You  know  very  well  she 
is  not  with  me." 

"She  is  —  not  with  you!"  —  her  consternation  was  too  real  to  be 
mistaken,  but  as  his  frown  softened  she  flew  at  him  and  grasped  his 
arm.  "I — I,  indeed!  What  have  I  done  with  her!  What  do  you 
mean,  monsieur?  I  left  Marie  with  you.  What  have  you  done 
with  her  ?  Do  you  venture  to  tell  me  you  have  not  taken  her 
home?" 


218  AT    THE    RED    GLOVE. 

"  Confound  you!  I  tell  you  I  missed  her;  she  —  she  went  away. 
I  thought  she  had  gone  to  you.  I  have  been  to  the  Red  Glove  ;  but 
she  is  not  there.  I  have  been  to  her  lodging;  she  is  not  there,"  he 
said,  with  slow  and  angry  emphasis. 

Madame  Bobineau  stood  thinking.  "What  do  you  propose  to 
do?"  she  said  at  last,  very  quietly,  for  she  began  to  fear  that  it 
might  be  left  to  her  alone  to  find  the  lost  girl. 

"I  am  going  back  to  the  gardens,  madame.  When  I  find  I  have 
lost  my  way,  I  always  go  back  to  the  place  I  started  from.  It  seems 
to  me  possible  —  I  only  say  possible,"  he  said,  gravely —  "that  the 
poor  child  felt  ill,  and  she  may  still  be  sitting  under  the  trees  at  the 
Schanzli." 

He  turned  away.  Before  he  had  gone  many  steps  he  came  back 
to  Madame  Bobineau. 

"You,  madame,"  he  puffed  out  his  words  sententiously,  "had 
better  wait  here.  There  is  a  bench  not  far  off.  You  must  wait  here 
till  I  return.     If  she  passes,  you  will  see  her.     Do  you  understand?" 

He  rolled  rapidly  away  over  the  bridge. 

"Holy  Virgin!  he  treats  me  as  if  I  was  dirt."  Madame  Bobi- 
neau's  eyes  gleamed  with  anger.  "It  must  be  bed -time.  I  am 
tired  to  death.  I  will  give  that  hussy  a  beating  to-night  if  I  never 
give  her  another;  and  then  I  will  not  lose  sight  of  her  again  until 
she  is  Madame  Loigerot." 


PART     V. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


STARLIGHT. 


"  You  are  not  coming  with  us?"  Madame  Carouge  said,  and  there 
was  tender  reproach  in  her  eyes. 

Engemann  pressed  her  hand  and  whispered, "I  will  be  with  you 
later." 

And  now  as  he  stood  looking  after  the  carriage  as  it  drove  away 
from  the  gates  of  the  Schanzli  he  felt  a  strange  mixture  of  relief 
and  perplexity;  at  last  he  was  free  from  the  spell  which  had  kept 
him  beside  the  widow,  he  was  free  to  think  over  all  that  had  hap- 
pened.    But  there  were  still  several  lingerers  near  the  entrance 


220  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

gates,  and  lie  turned  back  into  the  gardens,  for  he  wanted  to  be 
alone. 

He  found  the  walk  beside  the  terrace  already  deserted,  and  going 
a  little  way  across  the  grass  which  bordered  it,  he  flung  himself  on 
a  bench  under  the  trees.  Here  at  least  he  was  safe  from  intrusion ; 
the  trees  overhead  increased  the  gloom  around  him,  and  he  sighed 
with  a  pleasant  sense  of  freedom  as  he  leaned  back  against  the  tree- 
trunk  to  which  the  bench  was  fixed,  and  clasped  his  hands  behind 
his  head. 

Engemann  had  lived  very  much  alone,  and  he  was  not  quick- 
witted; both  these  causes  made  it  difBcult  for  him  to  disentangle 
his  thoughts  when  with  others.  The  glow  of  feeling  which  he  had 
experienced  beside  Madame  Carouge  had  created  a  mental  disturb- 
ance, a  sort  of  chaos,  which  he  longed  to  set  in  order. 

His  first  idea  was  that  he  had  gone  too  far  with  her  to  draw  back. 
"Well,  let  it  be  so;  what  did  it  matter  now?  Then,  as  the  events  of 
the  evening  passed  in  review  before  him,  he  started  up  from  his  seat 
and  began  to  walk  up  and  down;  he  frowned,  and  it  was  easy  to 
see  that  he  was  suffering  mentally.  But  he  turned  resolutely  from 
the  thought  of  Marie,  and  seated  himself  once  more  on  the  bench. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  draw  back  " — his  thoughts  went  on  to  Madame 
Carouge  and  her  tenderness.  "I  care  quite  enough  for  her  to  make 
her  a  good  husband,  and  I  believe  she  cares  for  me.  If  I  can 
make  her  happy,  that  is  all  that  is  necessary  to  such  a  plain  man 
as  I  am." 

He  must  speak  out  plainly  this  evening.  He  wished  there  could 
have  been  a  longer  delay.     Though  Marie  was  nothing  to  him,  yet — 

"I  was  a  fool  to  come  here,"  he  cried  out.  "  This  stillness  makes 
the  bitterness  worse.  Oh,  Marie,  can  you  be  false  and  worldly, 
when  you  look  as  pure  and  true  as  an  angel  might?  How  is  one 
to  believe  in  anything?"  The  poor  fellow  groaned  in  his  anguish. 
Marie's  sweet  face  rose  before  him  as  he  had  seen  it  last  at  the  Red 
Glove,  with  that  look  of  pathetic  entreaty  in  her  soft  gray  eyes.  ' '  I 
will  not  believe  it,"  cried  he.  "  She  is  honest;  she  is  true.  There 
has  been  some  terrible  mistake.  If  Marie  is  deceitful,  then  no 
woman  can  be  true"  .  .  . 

He  remained  dumb  while  a  tempest  of  sorrow  swept  over  him ; 
and  then  came  reaction.  Reality  asserted  itself,  reminded  him  of 
Marie  smiling  in  the  captain's  face,  and  blushing  with  pleasure  at 
his  admiration. 


i 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  221 

"Good  heavens,"  the  young  fellow  said,  furiously, " how  could 
she  bear  it?" 

It  was  easier  now  to  go  back  to  Madame  Carouge.  Yes,  he  had 
gone  too  far  to  delay;  he  had  perhaps  compromised  her;  he  must 
marry  her.  And  then  his  lower  nature  came  to  help  him,  called  up 
the  image  of  the  beautiful  woman  who  had  shown  him  such  favors 
and  revealed  sweet  possibilities  of  love  in  those  deep,  passionate 
eyes.  Then,  too,  she  could  remove  all  anxiety  from  his  life ;  she 
could  give  him  ease  and  comfort,  the  means  of  travelling— a  wish 
so  near  his  heart  that  he  let  his  thoughts  go  out  to  it  gladly  as 
to  an  escape  from  the  miserable  thoughts  which  he  knew  would 
return. 

All  at  once  he  thought  he  heard  a  voice  among  the  trees.  Rudolf 
listened,  but  all  was  again  silent.  Overhead,  the  stars  were  begin- 
ning to  show  themselves  large  and  luminous,  shining  with  a  pure, 
peaceful  light  that  calmed  him.  He  sat  gazing  at  them,  and  he  felt 
more  peaceful,  less  bitter  towards  Marie. 

"I  do  not  know  why  I  call  the  poor  child  false,"  he  said.  "I 
never  asked  for  her  love;  I  never  even  said  a  word  of  love  to  her. 
Ah,  but,"  he  said,  impetuously,"  I  did  not  hide  what  I  felt  for  her, 
and  she— well,  her  eyes  told  me  more  than  she  knew,  if  they  spoke 
truly." 

He  got  up  again  and  paced  up  and  down  on  the  grass,  angry  with 
his  own  weakness ;  he  knew  that  he  had  himself  recalled  the  temp- 
tation. The  only  safety  would  be  in  putting  a  barrier  between  him 
and  his  love  for  Marie. 

"What  am  I  about?"  his  thoughts  went  on.  "I  have  no  right 
even  to  think  of  Marie ;  I  belong  to  another  woman.  What  I  have 
to  do  is  to  marry  her  and  make  her  happy."  He  set  his  teeth 
defiantly,  and  then  he  laughed.  "  One  impression  effaces  another," 
he  said.  "I  suppose  people  will  say  I  am  a  very  lucky  fellow. 
Well,  perhaps  I  am.  She  is  rich  and  beautiful,  and  she  loves  me. 
I  dare  say  I  shall  soon  forget  this  evening,  or  think  of  it  as  a  foolish 
dream.  There!  it  is  done  with.  I  am  due  at  the  Hotel  Beau- 
regard." 

He  said  this  sturdily  enough,  but  he  did  not  at  once  turn  towards 
the  entrance  gate.  He  again  paced  up  and  down,  striving  for  calm 
and  for  relief  from  the  bitterness  which  made  the  duty  he  had  set 
himself  so  distasteful. 

"I  should  have  stayed  with  Madame  Carouge,"  he  said,  angrily, 

9* 


232  AT  THE    RED   GLOVE, 

"and  then  she  would  have  kept  me  fascinated,  and  left  me  no  time 
to  think  in.  Well,  I'll  marry  her  as  soon  as  she  likes,  and  then  all 
this  folly  "will  pass  out  of  remembrance." 

But  still  he  kept  pacing  up  and  down, 

"What  is  that?"  He  stopped.  "Is  any  one  in  there?"  he  called 
out.  He  peered  in  among  the  trees.  There  was  certainly  a  noise ; 
it  sounded  like  a  woman  sobbing.  He  stood  still,  listening  with 
strained  ears.  "Ah,"  he  said;  and  as  a  louder  sob  reached  him  he 
turned  into  the  darkness  under  the  trees.  As  he  advanced  he  made 
out  a  figure  on  a  seat  placed  against  the  outside  fence.  It  was  a 
woman,  for  her  light  gown  showed  distinctly.  His  steps  sounded 
on  the  twigs  and  dead  leaves,  and  as  the  figure  raised  its  head  the 
sobbing  ceased. 

"It  is  a  woman  in  trouble,"  Engemann  said.  "Poor  soul — but 
she  will  get  locked  in.     I  will  tell  her  she  must  not  stay  here." 

By  this  time  he  had  reached  the  seat,  and  he  felt  puzzled  how  to 
act.  The  woman  kept  her  head  turned  away,  as  if,  like  the  os- 
trich, she  thought  this  would  shield  her  from  discovery :  and  in- 
deed it  was  too  dark  to  see  her  face,  the  trees  formed  so  thick  a 
canopy. 

Engemann  bent  down.  "  Madame,"  he  said,  gently,  "  I  beg  your 
pardon.  You  do  not  know,  perhaps,  that  the  gardens  will  soon  be 
closed  for  the  night." 

There  was  a  sudden  start,  but  there  was  no  answer,  and  he  waited. 
He  began  to  distinguish  better  as  his  eyes  accustomed  themselves  to 
the  gloom,  and  he  saw  that  she  clasped  her  fingers  tightly  together. 

"You  are  in  trouble."  Engemann  felt  strangely  moved  by  this 
deep  sorrow  before  him.     "  Can  I  be  of  use  to  you?" 

"Please  go  away — you  cannot  help  me,"  came  in  a  broken  voice. 

But  he  recognized  it.  The  shock  of  his  surprise  struck  him  dumb. 
He  stood  thrilled  with  strong  emotion,  unable  to  believe  that  he  had 
really  heard  Marie's  voice. 

"  What  does  this  mean?"  he  said  at  last;  then,  stooping,  he  took 
hold  of  her  arm,  drew  her  up  from  the  seat,  and  then,  too  much 
moved  to  care  for  anything  but  certainty,  he  hurried  her  out  of  the 
shadow  of  the  trees  to  the  open  space,  where  it  was  lighter.  Then, 
as  he  held  her  by  both  hands,  the  better  light  showed  him  her  pale, 
tear-stained  face,  which  she  sought  vainly  to  hide  from  his  gaze. 
"Mademoiselle  PeyroUes,"  he  said,  severely, "  what  does  this  mean  ? 
Why  are  you  here  alone?    Where  is  Captain  Loigerot?" 


"what  doks  this  .mkanV"  hk  said  at  last. 


AT   TUE    RED   GLOVE.  225 

As  he  said  the, name  he  let  go  her  hands,  and  they  fell  straight  be- 
side her. 

"I  do  not  know;  I  do  not  care.  Go  away,  monsieur.  I  wish  to 
be  alone." 

She  spoke  sullenly,  and  turned  to  go  back  among  the  trees. 

"You  cannot  stay  here  alone,"  he  said.  "I  will  take  you  out  of 
the  gardens,  and  then,  if  you  wish  it,  I  wUl  leave  you,  or  I  will  take 
you  home. " 

"I  have  no  home,"  she  said,  in  the  same  sullen  voice.  Then  she 
ran  back  among  the  trees,  and  he  heard  that  she  was  sobbing  again. 

Engemann  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute ;  then  he  went  after  her. 
She  had  not  gone  far;  he  found  her  leaning  against  a  tree,  sobbing 
and  quivering  with  anguish,  for  indeed  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had 
become  an  outcast ;  it  did  not  signify  what  happened  to  her  now. 

Her  distress  softened  him.  "Poor  child,"  he  said,  "you  have 
lost  your  friends.  You  had  better  go  home  at  once.  Or  shall  I " — 
he  could  hardly  get  the  words  out — "shall  I  go  and  find  Captain 
Loigerot  and  Madame  Bobineau,  and  send  them  to  you?" 

She  turned  to  him  and  held  out  her  hands  beseechingly.  "No, 
no;  for  pity's  sake,  monsieur,  do  not  tell  them  where  I  am.  I  will 
never  see  either  of  them  again." 

A  sudden  glow  of  hope  spread  over  Engemann. 

"Marie" — he  caught  her  hands  passionately  in  his — "what  do 
you  mean?  Which  is  the  truth?  Are  you  the  girl  I  saw  just  now 
smiling  on  the  captain's  arm?  or  are  you  really  feeling  this  sorrow? 
Which  is  your  true  self?  What  has  changed  you  in  this  short 
time?" 

Marie  drew  her  hands  away,  but  she  checked  her  tears. 

"I  have  not  changed,  monsieur;  indeed  I  always  try  to  be  true," 
she  said,  in  a  broken  voice. 

"Then  why  did  you  promise  yourself  to  Captain  Loigerot?" 

Marie  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise ;  he  had  forgotten  everything 
but  her  presence;  but  she  remembered  quite  well  that  he  was  en- 
gaged to  marry  Madame  Carouge,  and  that  she  must  not  betray  her 
feelings  to  him. 

"What  could  I  do? — Madame  Bobineau  had  arranged  it,"  she 
said,  quietly. 

"Then  you  did  not  care  for  him?" 

She  longed  to  say  Yes — this  would  end  his  questioning — but  she 
could  not.     "No,  monsieur;  I  was  very  unhappy." 


226  AT  THE    RED   GLOVE. 

"And  yet  you  agreed  to  marry  liim,"  he  said,  severely.  "Oh, 
Marie!"  he  went  on,  passionately,  "you  know — you  must  have  seen 
that  I  loved  you."  She  started  violently.  "And  just  because  that 
old  man  is  rich  you  agreed  to  marry  him  without  giving  me  a 
chance." 

"You — loved — me!"  broke  from  her  in  tones  of  wonder.  She 
hesitated;  then  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  "I  was  told  you  loved 
some  one  else,  and  then — " 

"And  then?"    He  had  taken  her  hand  again. 

"And  then  nothing  seemed  to  signify  to  me,"  the  poor  child  said. 
Her  face  was  hot  with  shame,  though  she  knew  the  darkness  hid  it. 

"  Darling  Marie,"  he  whispered. 

Marie  was  greatly  frightened  when  she  felt  his  arm  round  her 
waist,  but  she  was  very  happy  too.  That  strong  arm  was  such  a 
safe  shield  and  resting-place ;  all  trouble  seemed  to  melt  away  at 
the  touch  of  it. 

"Darling  Marie,  my  sweet  one!"  and  he  kissed  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  CAPTAIN  LEARNS  THE  TRUTH. 

"An  irritable  bachelor"  is  a  common  saying;  but  the  fact  that 
"a  single  man,"  as  he  is  called,  has  no  one  with  whom  to  share  his 
troubles,  ought  to  excuse  the  unwillingness  with  which  he  submits 
his  back  to  the  burden  laid  on  it.  Perhaps,  too,  having  no  legit- 
imate ' '  back  "  on  which  to  lay  the  blame  of  disasters,  he  has  a  habit 
of  bestowing  it  freely  in  all  directions. 

It  is  certain  that  by  the  time  Captain  Loigerot  had  reached  the 
steep  approach  to  the  Schanzli  he  had  considerably  eased  his  mind 
by  the  amount  of  abuse,  mingled  with  some  unsavory  epithets, 
which  he,  as  he  went  along,  bestowed  on  Madame  Bobineau. 

"It  is  indecent  of  her," he  said,  savagely,  at  last  pulling  himself 
up,  and  setting  his  hat  firmly ;  ' '  there  is  no  other  word  for  the  con- 
duct of  an  old  woman  who  leaves  a  girl  to  run  about  alone  in  the 
dark.  Tonnerre  !  what  would  have  become  of  little  Marie's  charac- 
ter if  I  had  not  had  presence  of  mind?  Ah,  that  is  a  quality,  Achile, 
that  one  makes  acquaintance  with  when  one  comes  suddenly  on 
an  ambush  or  a  masked  battery.     Ma  foi!  when  I  remember — 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  227 

Well,  well,  I  shall  keep  the  girl  amused  with  my  stories  one  of  these 
days,  though  indeed  I — I  shall  not  forgive  her  at  once.  No,  no; 
she  shall  ask  me  to  take  pity  on  her.  To  run  about  alone  in  the 
dark!  Bon  Dieu!  But  then  if  the  little  rascal  smiles  at  me  with 
her  sweet  eyes  and  mouth,  it  will  be  all  over  with  me  in  a  moment; 
you  must  take  care,  Achille;  you  must  keep  a  steady  hand,  and  your 
eyes  wide  open,  my  friend —  Halloo!  stop!  Who  the  devil—  Why, 
Marie!"  He  had  nearly  rolled  against  Engemann,  who  was  coming 
down  the  road  with  Marie  on  his  arm.  "SacrSf  what  have  you 
been  doing  with  mademoiselle,  Monsieur  Engemann?" 

Then  he  stood,  choked  and  silenced  by  liis  anger  and  surprise. 
But  Marie  snatched  quickly  at  his  right  hand,  and  in  spite  of  his 
resistance  Engemann  seized  on  the  other. 

"Pardon,  monsieur,"  Marie  said. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Engemann,  "you  have  been  badly  used,  and  it 
has  been  my  fault — " 

"No,  no,  monsieur,"  Marie  interrupted;  "it  was  my  fault;  I  was 
much  the  worst.  You  have  been  deceived.  I  —  I  cannot  marry 
you,  monsieur. " 

"Deceived!  Cannot  marry  me!"  The  captain  pulled  his  hands 
roughly  away ;  he  stood  gasping  for  breath,  his  legs  spread  apart 
till  they  looked  like  a  large  inverted  V.  "Deceived  !"  he  puffed 
out,  angrily;  "it  is  you  who  are  deceived,  mademoiselle;  you  have 
promised  yourself  to  me  with  the  consent  of  your  guardian,  and  you 
are  not  of  age ;  therefore  you  cannot  take  back  that  promise. " 

"Listen;  please  to  listen,  monsieur."  ♦ 

"Do  not  touch  me."  He  shook  her  off  angrilj\  "You  are  a 
heartless  girl." 

But  Marie  clasped  both  hands  round  his  arm.  She  did  not  feel 
shy  of  him  now,  for,  although  he  might  perhaps  part  her  from  her 
lover,  something  told  her  he  would  not  compel  her  to  marry  him  if 
he  knew  that  she  loved  Monsieur  Engemann. 

"Monsieur" — she  looked  frankly  at  him — "you  are  very  angry 
with  me,  and  I  do  not  wonder;  but  indeed,  monsieur,  you  should 
have  been  much  more  angry  with  me  when  I  said  I  would  marry 
you." 

"Bah!"  Loigerot  turned  away  his  head.  It  was  much  lighter 
out  here  on  the  road  than  it  had  been  under  the  trees  in  the  Schanzli, 
and  Marie  saw  that  he  had  turned  a  deep  red,  and  his  ears  looked 
the  color  of  a  peony. 


228  AT  THE    RED   GLOVE. 

"Monsieur,"  she  went  on,  "be  pitiful;  do  not  judge  me  too  hard- 
ly; and— and,  monsieur,  surely  you  cannot  care  for  a  girl  -who  does 
not  love  you— who  never  could  love  you. " 

"  Then  why  did  you  consent  ?"  But  he  did  not  trust  himself  to 
look  at  her,  and  he  spoke  in  a  blustering  voice  over  his  shoulder. 

Marie  looked  at  her  lover. 

"Please  to  go  a  little  back,"  she  said  to  him,  timidly.  The  girl 
began  to  feel  that  she  had  wronged  this  good,  kind  man.  Till  now 
love  and  Captain  Loigerot  had  seemed  incompatible;  she  now  felt 
that  she  had  misjudged  him,  that  she  had  been  altogether  selfish  in 
regard  to  him.  ' '  Monsieur, "  she  said, ' '  listen  to  me :  I  will  tell  you 
the  simple  truth.  I  have  been  a  thoughtless  girl— heartless,  too,  if 
you  will ;  but  indeed  I  did  not  mean  to  be.  I— I  never  thought 
that  you  cared  much  for  me.  Madame  Bobineau  said  you  wanted 
a  wife,  and  that  I  wanted  a  home,  and— and  that  if  I  did  not  con- 
sent to  marry  you  she  would  give  me  up,  and  that  no  one  else  would 
employ  me.  I  was  miserable,  and  I  said 'Yes.'  I  have  been  very 
wrong,  monsieur ;  but— but  now  I  should  be  wicked  if  I  were  to 
marry  you." 

Something  in  the  last  words  struck  the  captain:  Engemann's  si- 
lence had  quieted  his  first  suspicions;  he  turned  round  and  looked 
at  Marie. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said,  crossly;  for  the  sight  of  her  fair 
imploring  face  made  his  disappointment  yet  keener.  "Do  you 
mean,  by  chance,  that  you  have  a  fancy  for  Monsieur  Engemann?" 

Marie  hung  her  head,  and  made  no  answer. 

"Did  Madame  Bobineau  know  this?"  he  said,  savagely. 

Marie's  courage  was  nearly  gone:  his  rude  manner  frightened  her. 
She  wished  she  had  not  asked  her  lover  to  go  away. 

"Madame  Bobineau  told  me— I  cared  for  Monsieur  Engemann," 
she  said;  "but  I— I  never  knew  he  cared  for  me  till— till  just  now." 

Loigerot  swore  loudly,  and  Marie  drew  back  in  alarm.  Enge- 
mann came  forward  and  stood  beside  her. 

"Monsieur,  you  must  not  be  angry  with  Marie.  You  must  please 
listen  to  me.  I  have  been  a  big  bUnd  fool,  and  have  caused  all  this 
trouble.  Instead  of  judging  for  myself,  I  believed  what  I  was  told. 
I  thought  Mademoiselle  Marie  cared  for  you,  and  I  gave  up  in  de- 
spair.    We  have  all  been  deceived,  but  I  have  been  a  fool  as  well." 

The  captain  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  road  twisting  his 
mustache,  and  the  young  pair  kept  silence,  like  culprits  awaiting 


AT  THE    KED   GLOVE.  229 

their  sentence.  Loigerot  continued  to  pull  at  his  mustache  un- 
mercifully, but  it  brought  him  no  aid  in  the  shape  of  counsel.  All 
at  once  he  broke  into  a  laugh — it  was  hardly  cheerful,  it  sounded 
so  derisive. 

"You  call  yourself  a  fool,  do  you,  monsieur?  It  seems  to  me 
you  have  known  how  to  arrange  matters  to  your  own  advantage. 
I  was  the  fool  to  be  persuaded  into  thinking  of  a  wife  so  much 
younger  than  myself.  Mademoiselle  Marie,  I  forgive  you.  It 
seems  to  me  you  have  been  as  hardly  used  by  your  cousin  as  I 
have ;  but  I  am  not  going  to  forgive  her  in  a  hurry.  She  has  be- 
haved shamelessly.  She  is  an  old — an  old — devil,"  said  the  captain, 
in  a  burst  of  anger,  "and  I  am  going  back  to  tell  her  so.  Come 
with  me,  mademoiselle." 

He  looked  at  Marie  as  if  he  were  not  aware  of  Engemann's  pres- 
ence, but  the  young  man  caught  his  hand. 

"You  are  a  trump,  captain,"  he  said;  "not  one  in  a  hundred 
would  have  been  so  generous." 

Loigerot  drew  his  hand  away  roughly.  "I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  you,  monsieur.  I  do  not  consider  you  in  this  affair.  What 
I  shall  do  is  for  Mademoiselle  Marie,  and  for  her  alone,"  he  said, 
pompously. 

"I  feel  that,"  Rudolf  said,  "and  I  feel,  too,  that  only  you,  mon- 
sieur, have  the  power  to  shield  her  from  Madame  Bobineau's  anger." 

Loigerot  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  make  no  promises,  but  1 
think  I  have  power  over  the  old  woman.  But  with  you,  monsieur, 
I  have  nothing  to  do — absolutely  nothing." 

Then  he  turned  his  back  on  Engemann,  and  offered  his  arm  to 
Marie. 

"Mademoiselle, "he  said, "I  am  at  your  service,  if  you  will  do 
me  the  honor  to  accept  any  help  I  can  give  you.     Come." 

Marie  had  strained  her  courage  to  the  utmost  while  she  pleaded 
with  the  captain.  Now  she  could  hardly  keep  back  her  tears,  and 
her  fingers  trembled  so  much  as  she  placed  them  on  his  arm  that 
he  was  touched  with  pity. 

"  Courage,  mademoiselle!  all  shall  go  well,"  he  said.  He  pulled 
out  his  handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose  violently. 

Rudolf  Engemann  thought  it  was  wiser  to  follow  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, so  that  the  sight  of  him  should  not  irritate  the  captain.  His 
old  esteem  for  Loigerot  had  come  back,  and  he  felt  implicit  trust 
in  him. 


230  AT   THE    RED   GLOVE. 

"Mademoiselle," said  the  captain,  as  they  walked  on,  "I  am  very 
angry  with  Madame  Bobineau,  and  I  promise  you  I  shall  not  spare 
her;  but  she  has  cause  to  be  angry  with  you,  and  be  sure  she  will 
not  spare  you.  Two  wrongs  will  never  make  one  right,  but  I  may 
be  able  to  quiet  her;  she  is  too  wise  or  crafty  to  quarrel  with  me. 
She  knows  on  which  side  her  bread  the  honey  lies. " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Marie;  "  you  are  very  good  to  me,  and  I 
will  pray  that  you  may  be  rewarded  for  your  kindness,  and  that 
you  may  soon  find  a  girl  more  deserving  than  I  am." 

He  broke  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"Not  if  I  know  it,  my  beauty!  In  truth,  I  am  too  old.  This  kind 
of  thing  is  too  much  trouble  for  me.  I  was  very  well  before  I  saw 
you,  and  in  future  I  shall  let  well  alone.  Ah,  here  is  the  bridge! 
We  shall  find  Madame  Bobineau  at  the  farther  end  of  it.  Courage, 
my  little  girl;  remember  Achille  Loigerot  is  your  friend." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

''run  to  earth." 


Madame  Bobineau  had  grown  very  tired  of  waiting. 

"It  is  extremely  dangerous,"  she  grumbled  to  herself,  "to  sit 
here  in  the  night  air  ;  it  is  enough  to  give  one  rheumatism.  A 
plague  upon  girls,  and  men  too !  it  is  inconceivable  what  a  trouble 
they  are.  Good  Lord !  that  at  my  age  I  should  be  ordered  about  as 
if  I  were  a  school-girl!" 

She  tried  to  console  herself  with  a  large  pinch  of  snuff;  then  she 
sat  shivering  and  grumbling.  Her  thoughts  soon  went  back  to 
Marie.  What  could  have  become  of  the  naughty,  headstrong  girl? 
It  was  incredible  that  she  could  have  behaved  so  badly,  though  all 
girls  were  alike  untrustworthy ;  still,  she  had  been  better  than  most 
of  them  till  now. 

The  old  woman  had  restrained  her  anger  before  the  captain ;  but 
she  felt  furious  at  what  she  called  Marie's  base  ingratitude.  She  did 
not  believe  that  the  girl  was  still  in  the  gardens —  But  here  Madame 
Bobineau  found  herself  pulled  up  short  in  her  meditations.  Where 
could  Marie  have  gone?  She  had  no  friends  in  Berne;  she  could 
not  stay  out  all  night;  she  was  not  bad  enough  for  that. 

All  at  once  Madame  Bobineau  remembered  that  when  she  asked 


AT   THE    RED   GLOVE.  231 

what  bad  become  of  Monsieur  Engemann,  Madame  Riesen  bad  said 
be  was  going  to  walk  home.  The  old  woman  began  to  shake  as  if 
she  had  ague ;  her  terror  lifted  the  hair  from  her  forehead,  and  she 
wrung  her  withered  hands  in  despair  at  the  idea  that  suggested  it- 
self. It  was  too  wicked,  too  infamous,  that  two  meritorious  and 
honorable  persons  like  Madame  Carouge  and  Captain  Loigerot 
should  have  their  feelings  outraged  for  the  sake  of  a  chit  like 
Marie. 

"Engemann  is  only  a  fool,"  she  said,  in  her  anger.  "  Those  big 
men  are  always  soft  fools;  they  do  what  a  woman  tells  them  to  do 
just  like  lambs.  The  forward  chit  has  implored  him  to  take  pity  on 
her,  and — merciful  Heaven!  what  may  not  have  happened?  I  must 
be  quick,  or  Madame  Carouge  will  think  I  had  a  hand  in  it.  She 
must  be  told  directly. " 

She  rose  up  quickly;  she  forgot  her  fatigue,  and  her  promise  to 
the  captain  to  await  his  return,  and  she  went  hobbling  fast  down  the 
road  till  at  last  she  came  to  the  nearest  turning  to  the  Hotel  Beaure- 
gard. The  long  street  was  as  quiet  as  the  grave  ;  but  when  she 
reached  the  clock-tower  she  saw  Moritz,  the  waiter,  standing  out- 
side the  entrance  to  the  hotel,  looking  about  as  if  he  expected  some 
one. 

"Good-evening,  madame."  His  eyebrows  rose  with  surprise  as 
the  old  woman  turned  to  come  in. 

"Madame  is  in  her  parlor,"  she  said,  more  as  a  statement  than  as 
a  question;  "  I  can  see  her."  Moritz  bowed,  and  turned  to  lead  the 
way,  while  she  followed  slowly.  The  impulse  which  had  driven 
her  to  seek  Madame  Carouge  was  already  checked  by  the  fear  that 
now  overcame  her.  She  knew  how  the  widow  could  look  and 
speak  when  she  was  angry,  and  Madame  Bobineau's  knees  grew 
weak  at  the  remembrance.  She  felt  that  she  had  been  foolhardy  to 
seek  an  interview,  and  she  had  half  resolved  to  tell  Moritz  she  would 
not  intrude  on  his  mistress,  when  she  heard  him  announce  her.  It 
was  evident  that  Madame  Carouge  was  at  the  window  of  her  room, 
and  retreat  had  become  impossible. 

"Madame  Bobineau!"  she  heard  the  widow  say  in  a  wondering 
tone,  and  she  turned  the  corner  and  met  her  at  the  open  door. 

The  lamps  were  lighted,  and  the  goldfish  swimming  in  the  basin 
of  the  fountain  showed  brilliantly  through  the  overhanging  ferns 
and  palms.  Madame  Carouge  had  laid  aside  her  bonnet ;  her  beau- 
tiful head  was  slightly  thrown  back  as  she  nodded  to  the  old  woman. 


233  AT   THE   KED   GLOVE. 

"  Ah,  how  do  you  do  again?"  She  spoke  languidly;  then,  as  soon 
as  Moritz  had  departed,  she  closed  the  door  and  the  window,  and 
turned  sharply  to  Madame  Bobineau.  "  What  are  you  sighing  and 
panting  about?  Has  anything  happened,  madame?"  she  said.  She 
did  not  even  ask  her  to  sit  down. 

"I  will  rest,  if  you  please,"  and  Bobineau  dropped  into  a  chair. 
In  spite  of  her  alarm  the  old  woman  saw  that  the  beauty  was  moved 
out  of  her  ordinary  self  -  possession,  and  this  gave  her  confidence. 
"I  can  go  no  farther — pouf! — I  seem  to  have  been  running  about 
for  hours  trying  to  find  that  child." 

"Do  you  mean  Marie?"  Madame  Carouge  had  remained  stand- 
ing, but  now  she  put  her  hand  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  She  looked 
pale,  Madame  Bobineau  thought. 

"Yes,  madame.  That  wicked  old  man  deceived  us.  He  says 
he  knows  nothing  of  Marie.  While  he  turned  his  head  she  ran  away 
— he  says— he  missed  her  all  at  once.  Now  I  ask  you,  my  dear 
friend,  is  this  likely?  A  timid  girl  like  that  would  not  go  away 
alone  among  so  many  people.  I  want  your  advice.  What  am  I  to 
do?    How  am  I  to  find  her?" 

"Where is  Captain  Loigerot?"  The  widow  spoke  severely.  "He 
is  the  person  to  advise  you.  Marie  was  left  with  him.  I  saw  her 
on  his  arm,  smiling  and  looking  as  happy  as  possible  under  his  ad- 
miring glances. " 

"You  saw  her?"  Madame  Bobineau  pricked  up  her  ears;  her 
way  was  becoming  easier. 

"Yes.  I  was  walking  with  Monsieur  Engemann.  We  both  saw 
her,  and  we  both  offered  our  congratulations  to  her  and  to  the  cap- 
tain." 

"Ah!"  and  then  Madame  Bobineau  checked  herself.  She  half 
closed  her  sly  old  eyes  while  she  pictured  to  herself  the  girl's  vexa- 
tion; no  doubt  she  had  run  away  to  avoid  this  happy  pair. 

Madame  Carouge  no  longer  held  her  head  erect ;  doubt  had  seized 
her. 

The  old  woman,  seated  at  a  little  distance  on  the  sofa,  was  roused 
by  her  silence.  She  watched  her  with  the  intensity  of  a  cat  sure  of 
its  prey,  though  in  Madame  Bobineau's  eyes  there  was  a  glitter  of 
fear  in  the  tense  gaze  she  kept  on  the  pale,  drawn  face. 

"  Where  is  Monsieur  Loigerot?"  suddenly  said  Madame  Carouge. 

"He  went  back  to  the  gardens  to  look  for  Marie.  He  said  the 
child  might  be  there  still.     He  told  me  I  could  wait  at  the  bridge; 


I 


AT    THE    RED   GLOVE.  233 

but,  nio)i  Dieu  !  I  could  wait  no  longer.  I  was  too  anxious,  and  I 
wanted  your  advice,  dear  madame." 

Madame  Carouge  walked  up  and  down  several  times.  She  dared 
not  speak  lest  the  terrible  fear  that  racked  her  till  it  seemed  as  if 
she  could  no  longer  endure  the  pain  it  gave  should  shape  itself  in 
words.  By  degrees  she  grew  quieter;  and  when  she  spoke  again  to 
Madame  Bobineau,  the  sharp-eyed  old  woman  was  surprised  at  her 
calm  tone. 

"  I  am  trying  to  think  for  you,  madame,  and  it  is  not  easy,"  she 
said.  "  First,  I  must  tell  you  that  you  have  been  greatly  to  blame 
—shamefully  careless.  I  warned  you,  you  must  remember,  that  you 
were  not  fit  to  be  the  guardian  of  such  a  girl,  and  that  the  Red  Glove 
was  not  a  fit  place  for  her.  Hush!  you  must  not  interrupt!"  She 
fixed  her  eyes  imperiously  on  Madame  Bobineau,  and  the  color  came 
back  to  her  own  face.  "Marie  will  be  found,"  she  said,  bitterly. 
"  I  feel  sure  the  captain  will  discover  her  and  bring  her  home.  No 
doubt  she  got  tired  of  him  and  slipped  away.  Now  listen  to  me. 
You  must  tell  the  girl  that  you  will  not  urge  on  the  marriage  with 
Captain  Loigerot  at  present,  but  that  you  cannot  keep  her  at  the  Red 
Glove  after  this  disgraceful  conduct.  You  know  it  is  possible  the 
captain  will  be  very  angry,  and  no  one  can  wonder  if  he  is." 

"  He  is  very  fond  of  the  child,"  said  Madame  Bobineau. 

"Be  quiet,  will  you?"  and  another  frown  silenced  the  old  woman. 
"I  will  have  your  shop  minded  to-morrow,  and  you  must  see  that 
child  off  to  Lucerne.  She  must  not  stay  another  day  in  Berne.  Send 
her  back  to  her  friends  at  St.  Esprit.  I  will  pay  all  expenses,  and  I 
will  write  to  the  Superior.  You  understand?  Marie  must  not  re- 
main in  Berne  after  to-morrow.  I  have  your  authority,  I  imagine, 
madame,  for  saying  that  the  girl  is  bold  and  indiscreet,  and  requires 
training  till  she  can  conduct  herself  more  modestly." 

"How  good  you  are! — always  good,  always  beautiful."  In  her 
relief  Madame  Bobineau  took  a  huge  pinch  of  snuff,  and  brought 
tears  into  her  eyes.  "  Yes,  indeed,"  she  whimpered;  "what  you  say 
is  more  than  true,  dear  lady.  I  have  seen  her  look  at  that  noble 
young  man.  Monsieur  Engemann,  in  a  way  that,  had  he  not  been 
devoted  to  you,  might  have  led  him  to  notice  her.  She  was  so  vain 
I  believe  she  thought  he  admired  her." 

Madame  Carouge  made  a  quick  step  forward,  and  then  stopped 
abruptly. 

"Peace,  you  vile  old  woman!    How  dare  you  sit  there  telling 


234  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE, 

wliat  is  your  own  shame?  At  the  first  glimpse  of  such  behavior 
in  the  girl  you  should  have  shut  the  hussy  up  in  a  room  and  kept 
her  on  bread  and  water  till  you  had  sent  her  back  to  her  convent. 
Why  did  you  not  come  to  me  at  once  for  advice?  How  do  you 
know  what  has  happened  to-night?  I  am  not  sure  that  the  wicked 
girl  is  fit  to  be  admitted  among  those  saintly  sisters  again." 

Madame  Bobineau  crouched  till  her  chin  almost  touched  her 
knees.  She  felt  as  if  those  fierce  black  eyes  shot  lightning,  and 
the  words  pelted  like  a  storm  of  hail. 

"  Yes,  yes,  madame,  I  have  been  to  blame,"  she  said,  feebly.  "I 
■will  take  her  away;  I  will  do  all  you  say.  What  did  you  say  I  was 
to  tell  Marie?" 

"Not  a  word  about  my  advice  in  the  matter.  Tell  her  that  she 
has  lost  her  character  by  this  misconduct,  and  that  you  cannot  keep 
her  at  the  Red  Glove.  She  will  be  glad  enough  to  go,  to  escape  the 
captain's  anger.  I  tell  you  that  a  few  weeks  of  dull  convent  life, 
now  that  she  has  had  a  peep  at  the  world,  will  make  her  thankful  to 
marry  him  by-and-by.     That  is  all  I  have  to  say.     You  can  go  now." 

She  stamped  her  foot  impatiently. 

At  the  door  Madame  Bobineau  turned  back  to  seek  for  her  snuff- 
box. In  her  terror  it  had  slipped  from  her  hand  on  to  the  sofa,  and 
she  felt  sorely  in  need  of  comfort. 

Madame  Carouge  turned  her  back  on  her,  and  stood  bending  over 
her  desk  till  the  old  woman  had  disappeared. 

Meantime  Marie  had  reached  her  lodging.  There  had  been  a 
little  more  talk  between  her  and  the  captain  as  they  walked  up  the 
street;  but  lately  they  had  been  silent,  and  indeed  the  girl  was  ex- 
hausted with  the  varied  emotions  she  had  gone  through.  She  could 
not  have  kept  up  a  conversation. 

Engemann  followed  them,  but  he  felt  that  it  was  wiser  to  leave 
Loigerot  in  peace.  He  was  surprised  and  puzzled  at  all  that  had 
happened,  but  still  he  felt  inclined  to  trust  the  little  round  man  who 
rolled  along  with  Marie  on  his  arm. 

When  they  reached  the  door  of  her  lodging  the  captain  took  the 
girl's  hand  in  his. 

"My  child,"  he  said,  "you  have  done  well  to  trust  me.  It 
would— aw— it  would  have  been  better  for  us  all  if  you  had  trusted 
me  at  the  beginning.  Yes,  Mademoiselle  Marie,  it  would  have  been 
much  better." 


AT   THE    RED    GLOVE.  235 

Marie  held  his  hand  a  moment;  then,  before  he  could  stop  her, 
she  bent  down  and  kissed  it. 

"Monsieur" — she  was  crying  now — "you  are  too  good,  too  kind, 
tome.     I  am  very,  very  grateful.     I  shall  always  love  you." 

Loigerot  patted  her  shoulder.  "There,  there,"  he  said,  "not  too 
much  of  that,  or  I  may  change  my  mind  yet,  little  one,  and  take  you 
at  your  word." 

He  cleared  his  throat,  and  in  quite  another  voice  he  said  to 
Eiigemann, 

"Monsieur,  you  can  say  good-night  to  mademoiselle." 

He  stood  by  while  they  shook  hands.  Then,  when  the  door  had 
closed  on  Marie,  he  looked  at  Rudolf  from  head  to  foot. 

"You  are  a  pretty  fellow,  Rudolf  Engemann,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"a  very  pretty  fellow.  Ma  foi!  you  quiet  ones  play  the  deuce 
with  the  women ;  but  you  ought  to  look  happier  than  you  do  to 
have  won  the  liking  of  two  such  women — eh,  mon  Dieu!  I  tell 
you  so.  Now  what  the  devil  do  you  mean  to  do  with  the  widow?" 
he  said,  sharply. 

Certainly  Rudolf  Engemann  did  not  look  like  a  happy  lover;  he 
had  a  limp,  dejected  aspect  as  he  returned  the  captain's  humorous 
stare. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "you  are  right;  I  feel  like  a  fool.  But  first 
of  all  I  must  beg  your  pardon — yes,  I  was  very  rude  to  you,  unjust 
too,  while  you  have  been  most  generous  and  forbearing.  Well,  I 
had  grown  desperate :  if  I  had  not  found  Marie  miserable  among  the 
trees  at  the  Schiinzli,  I  believe  I  should  have  gone  on  to  the  hotel,  as 
I  promised  Madame  Carouge,  and  I  should  have  proposed  to  her." 

The  captain  snapped  his  fingers  triumphantly.  ' '  Then  you  have 
not  done  it?  Mon  Dieu!  that  is  good  news— good  indeed;"  he 
slapped  his  leg  emphatically.  "You  are  wiser  than  I  thought.  I 
fancied  she  had  hooked  you  long  ago,  and  that  you  had  been  play- 
ing fast  and  loose  between  her  and  my  little  girl."  Then,  as  he 
looked  at  Engemann's  troubled  face,  "  Tonnerre!  what  is  the  matter 
now?  You  do  not  deserve  your  good-fortune,  my  lad,  if  you  can- 
not enjoy  it,"  he  said. 

"I  tell  you  I  was  miserable  and  desperate, " the  young  fellow 
said,  moodily,  "and — and  although  I  did  not  propose  in  so  many 
words,  I  have  paid  Madame  Carouge  more  attention  this  evening 
than  I  ever  did  before.  I  even  said  I  would  call  on  her,  and  I  know 
she  is  now  expecting  me.     What  am  I  to  do?" 


236  -^T   THE    BED    GLOVE. 

They  had  walked  on  side  by  side,  and  now  they  stood  beneath 
the  Red  Glove.  It  seemed  to  point  its  fat  thumb  derisively  at  En- 
gemann,  and  one  might  have  fancied  that  his  words  were  echoed  up 
there  from  its  dark  perch:  "  What  am  I  to  do— to  do?" 

Rudolf  looked  so  disconsolate  that  the  captain  forgot  everything 
but  his  amusement;  he  stxiffed  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and 
laughed  till  the  tears  came  to  his  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  to  do  ?  That  is  a  pretty  question  for  a  smart 
Don  Juan  like  you  to  put  to  a  man  of  my  years  1  What  are  you  to 
do?    Mafoi!  you  cannot  keep  them  both." 

He  laughed  again,  till  the  Red  Glove  seemed  to  sway  backward 
and  forward  in  sympathy  with  his  mirth. 

Engemann  turned  impatiently  away.  "I  suppose  I  had  better  go 
to  Madame  Carouge  and  tell  her  the  truth  like  a  man:  it  is  the  fair- 
est way."    And  he  plunged  into  the  darkness  under  the  arcade. 

"Hold!  stop!  stop!  Are  you  mad?"  and  there  was  the  captain 
panting  and  holding  on  to  the  skirts  of  the  young  fellow's  coat. 
"What  a  devil  of  a  pace  !  — whew  !  — stop,  my  fine  fellow  !"  he 
gasped. 

It  took  Loigerot  a  few  minutes  to  recover  himself;  then  he  put 
his  arm  into  Engemaun's,  and  led  him  back  to  the  Red  Glove.  He 
opened  the  private  door  and  pointed  to  him  to  go  in. 

"Upon  my  word!"  he  said.  "I  am  a  bachelor,  but  I  might  as 
well  be  a  father,  for  the  trouble  I  have  had  to-night  among  the  set 
of  you.  Go  upstairs  quietly,  my  boy,  and  get  to  bed  as  fast  as  you 
can,  and  go  to  sleep  too,  if  you  can.  You  go  to  the  widow  and  tell 
her  the  truth!  You  might  as  safely  walk  up  to  the  mouth  of  can- 
non in  action  as  trust  yourself  with  her  to-night." 
"But  my  promise?  I  said  I  would  see  her  to-night." 
The  captain  looked  at  the  young  fellow  out  of  his  half-closed 
eyes.  "Your  promise!  Pie-crust— you  understand!  You  are  as 
fit  to  see  her,  my  young  friend,  as  a  bird  is  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  hun- 
gry cat.  No,  no;  you  leave  the  widow  to  me.  She  is  a  fine  creat- 
ure, and  full  of  goodness,  no  doubt— they  all  are— but  she  is  a  wid- 
ow in  love,  and  that's  the  devil.  Poor  thing!  I  am  sorry  for  her, 
though.  But  she  and  I  are  in  the  same  boat,  and  we  must  console 
each  other.  Yes,  yes;  I  will  manage  the  affair.  I  will  let  her  sleep 
over  it,  and  to-morrow  I  will  bring  her  round  famously.  It  will  be 
difficult," he  said,  pompously,  "but  don't  you  be  afraid.  There! 
there!  be  off!  m  with  you!    Be  quiet,  I  tell  you!"— as  the  young 


r 


AT  THE    RED   GLOVE.  237 

fellow  began  to  pour  out  his  gratitude.  "I  don't  say  I  have  for- 
given you  yet  for  robbing  me  of  that  pretty  child.  Now  for  the 
old  hag,"  he  said  to  himself,  when  Engeniaun  had  gone  up-stairs, 
"for  she  has  made  all  the  mischief.  I  must  find  out  if  she  has 
come  in  yet." 

He  lit  a  cigar,  and  then  he  called  gently  for  Madame  Bobineau. 
It  was  possible  that  she  had  gone  home  to  bed  as  soon  as  he  left 
her.  But  the  gas  in  the  entrance-passage  was  not  lighted,  and  this 
was  an  unusual  omission. 

"No,  she  has  not  come  in," he  said,  when  he  had  stood  for  some 
time  listening.  He  shut  the  door,  and  then  he  went  out  into  the 
arcade  to  wait  for  the  old  woman. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  Before  she  saw  him,  as  he  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  the  arcade,  he  saw  her  crouching  figure  hobbling  along. 
She  was  still  trembling  from  the  effect  of  her  interview  with  Ma- 
dame Carouge,  and  grumbling  to  herself,  when  all  at  once  she  look- 
ed up  and  perceived  the  captain  standing  at  the  door  of  her  house. 

"What  have  you  done  with  Marie?"  she  said,  angrily. 

"  Mademoiselle  Peyrolles  is  in  her  lodging;  and  in  future,  Madame 
Bobineau,  when  you  want  to  dispose  of  anything,  be  careful  first  to 
make  sure  that  it  does  not  belong  to  some  one  else.  You  have  de- 
ceived me." 

Madame  Bobineau  was  tired  and  hungry,  and  angry  besides.  All 
the  temper  suppressed  by  the  stronger  passion  of  Madame  Carouge 
flew  out  rebelliously.  She  longed  to  fly  at  the  captain;  she  would 
have  pulled  his  hair  and  scratched  his  face  if  the  remembrance  that 
he  was  her  first-floor  lodger  had  not  restrained  her. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  coldly,  "it  is  I  who  have  reason  to  com- 
plain. I  trusted  you  with  Marie,  and  you  lost  her.  However,  I 
suppose  you  and  she  have  made  it  up;  so  I  will  say  no  more  about 
it  to-night,  but  to-morrow  I  must  have  an  explanation." 

" Sacre!  you  bad  old  woman,  Tou  will  say  no  more!  y-ou  will 
have  an  explanation !  Tonnerre !  this  is  excellent,  on  my  soul. 
Madame  Bobineau,"  he  went  on,  with  dignity,  "Mademoiselle 
Marie  is  my  friend;  I  shall  always  have  a  great  regard  for  her;  but 
she  will  never  be  anj^thing  more  than  a  friend  to  me.  Poor  little 
girl !  she  was  utterly  miserable,  and  she  left  me.  I  found  her  in 
the  dark  with  her  lover,  Monsieur  Engemann;  so  you  see,  madame, 
if  you  wish  to  save  her  character,  you  must  let  the  young  people 
marry." 


238  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

"Let  them  marry  ["she  shrieked.  "Never!  Let  her  marry  a 
beg"-arly  clerk!  Never!  never!  Marie  is  under  age,  and  I  refuse 
my  consent.     I  shall  take  her  back  to  her  convent  to-morrow." 

"Keep  yourself  quiet,  you  old  fool,"  the  captain  said,  in  a  low 
voice;  "the  neighbors  will  hear.  Do  you  want  Madame  Webern 
to  know  all  that  has  happened?  Come  indoors  and  light  the 
lamp." 

She  obeyed  sullenly. 

"Good-night,  monsieur,"  she  said,  when  the  lamp  was  lighted. 
"  You  will  have  changed  your  mind  by  to-morrow." 

"  Stop  a  bit,"  he  said,  and  he  placed  himself  in  front  of  the  door 
of  her  room,  his  bulk  filling  up  the  narrow  passage  so  that  she  could 
with  difficulty  have  squeezed  by  him.  "You  had  better  under- 
stand me  distinctly.  I  never  change  a  purpose,  madame,  unless  I 
find  that  events  prevent  me  from  carrying  it  out.  That  is  not  likely 
to  happen  in  this  case.  I  meant  to  marry  your  cousin,  but  you 
yourself  have  made  this  impossible." 

"I! — oh,  monsieur,  you  have  been  grossly  imposed  on.  Oh,  that 
little  hussy  shall  pay  for  this!" 

"Do  not  dare  to  call  that  poor  child  names.  Now  listen  to  me. 
I  am  tired,  and  I  want  to  go  to  bed.  So  these  are  the  last  words  I 
have  to  say."  He  had  taken  his  cigar  out  of  his  mouth,  and  he 
used  it  to  emphasize  his  words  as  he  spoke.  "If  you  say  so  much 
as  one  unkind  word  to  Mademoiselle  Marie  I  will  leave  your  lodg- 
ings, and  I  will  let  Lenoir  and  every  one  know  of  your  infamous 
conduct.  How  dared  you  tell  me  that  Marie  was  fond  of  me  and 
willing  to  marry  me,  when  at  the  same  time  you  told  her  she  was 
fond  of  young  Engemann?— and  then  you  leave  her  in  the  gardens 
alone  with  me."  He  shook  his  cigar  toenacingly.  "  You  have  not 
many  friends ;  you  will  not  have  one  if  I  open  my  mouth,  and  I  will 
do  it  if  you  disobey  me.  Marie  has  compromised  herself  with  that 
young  man— very  well.  They  must  be  betrothed.  After  that  send 
her  back  to  her  convent  till  he  is  able  to  marry  her,  for  marry  her 
he  must.  Now,  madame,  you  know  the  position.  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

Madame  Bobineau  understood  very  well.  She  longed  to  defy 
this  high-handed  captain,  but  her  courage  failed  her.  "Monsieur 
is  very  hard  on  me,"  she  whimpered. 

"  On  the  contrary.  And  mark  you,  madame,  if  when  Engemann  is 
ready  to  marry  your  cousin,  you  refuse  your  consent  "—he  frowned 


AT  THE    EED   GLOVE.  239 

till  his  mustache  quivered,  and  he  looked  surprisingly  fierce — "ban; 
I  shall  then  know  how  to  deal  with  you,  and  I  shall  expose  tho 
abominable  conduct  you  have  used  towards  me  and  Mademoiselle 
Marie  to  all  the  world." 

He  turned  his  back  on  her,  and  walked  deliberately  up-stairs. 

Madame  Bobineau  sat  down  on  the  lowest  step,  and  wrung  her 
hands  in  impotent  fury. 

"Horrid,  wicked  old  man!  I  hate  him!"  she  muttered:  "but  he 
pays  me  twice  as  much  as  any  lodger  ever  paid  before,  and  he  is  a 
friend  of  Madame  Carouge.     Oh,  if  he  were  only  some  one  else!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

now  LOIGEROT  MANAGED  THE  WIDOW. 

MoRiTz  the  waiter  looked  disturbed  as  he  went  about  his  duties 
this  morning.  The  hectic  flush  had  spread  over  his  hollow  cheeks, 
and  there  was  an  angry  brightness  in  his  melancholy  brown  eyes. 
Evidently  something  had  gone  wrong  with  the  head-waiter  of  tho 
Beauregard.  If  you  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes  you  would 
soon  have  discovered  that  every  time  he  went  in  and  out  of  the 
breakfast-room  he  glanced  across  at  his  mistress's  parlor.  More- 
over, he  made  several  needless  journeys  up  and  down  stairs,  so  that 
he  might  get  a  good  look  at  her. 

Moritz  was  indeed  greatly  troubled.  Last  night  Madame  Carouge 
had  been  superb ;  she  had  come  in  blooming  and  radiant ;  what 
could  have  happened  to  change  her  this  morning  into  a  pale,  heavy- 
eyed  statue,  so  silent  and  preoccupied  that  she  seemed  unable  to 
attend  to  business,  and  had  sent  away  her  breakfast  untouched? 

Moritz  felt  that  some  one  had  to  bear  the  blame  of  this  change, 
and  he  hesitated  between  "old  Bobineau," as  he  termed  her,  and 
Monsieur  Engemann. 

When  Madame  Carouge  came  in  last  night  she  had  told  him  she 
would  receive  Monsieur  Engemann  when  he  called,  and  the  waiter 
had  felt  full  of  jealous  trouble.  He  adored  his  beautiful  mistress, 
and  he  felt  that  virtually  he  was  master  at  the  Beauregard;  the  idea 
that  this  bank  clerk,  some  years  younger  than  himself,  was  to  be  set 
over  his  head  was  exasperating.  When  Engemann  failed  to  appear, 
and  Madame  Bobineau  paid  that  short  stormy  visit,  which  he  had 
carefully  noted,  he  did  not  know  what  to  think. 

10 


240  AT   THE    RED    GLOVE. 

He  had  heard  all  the  chatter  that  Lenoir  could  furnish  him  with; 
and  indeed,  by  the  help  of  Madame  Riesen  and  of  Lenoir,  the  gos- 
sips of  Berne  had  been  hving  on  the  events  of  these  double  court- 
ships during  the  past  week.  Moritz  suspected  that  Engemann  was 
playing  a  double  game  —  flirting  with  Marie,  while  he  intended  to 
marry  the  widow — and  this  idea  had  increased  his  dislike  of  the  fair 
young  giant.  Rudolf's  coolness  and  self-possession  always  irritated 
the  nervous  man,  whose  movements  were  as  rapid  as  his  wits  were 
sharp.  That  "such  a  slow-wit," as  he  termed  Engemann,  without 
any  savoir  -falre,  should  aspire  to  beautiful,  wealthy  Madame  Ca- 
rouge  was  most  audacious.  That  she  should  encourage  such  a  dull, 
half  hearted  lover  was  astounding;  but  at  this  idea  Moritz  always 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  knew  she  had  had  a  bad  time  with  Ca- 
rouge,  poor  soul;  she  was  not  to  be  blamed  if  she  thought  that  his 
opposite  in  all  respects  was  likely  to  make  her  happy.  "Women 
only  look  outside,"  Moritz  told  himself. 

But  what  could  have  happened  to  change  her  so?  Madame  Bobi- 
Dcau  had  probably  brought  her  a  message  from  Engemann. 

The  widow  had  closed  both  door  and  window,  but  Moritz  had 
heard  fragments  of  the  wordy  battle  through  the  key  -  hole  of  the 
door  of  communication  between  his  own  little  office  and  his  mis- 
tress's parlor.  This  morning,  when  breakfast  was  over  and  Enge- 
mann did  not  appear,  the  head-waiter  could  do  nothing  but  rush  to 
the  door  at  intervals,  and  stare  expectantly  down  the  street. 

The  morning  went  on,  and  all  the  early  breakfasters  departed. 
There  was  a  lull  in  the  house,  but  Madame  Carouge  did  not  take  ad- 
vantage of  this,  as  she  often  did,  to  go  up-stairs  to  her  room. 

She  sat  at  her  desk  trying  to  add  up  the  same  long  column  of  fig- 
ures which  had  occupied  her  all  the  morning.  She  had  stayed  up 
till  midnight  waiting  for  Engemann,  and  then  she  had  gone  to  bed 
heart-sick  and  weary;  but  she  had  not  slept.  She  had  guessed  at 
some  of  the  truth  while  Madame  Bobineau  told  her  story;  but  for 
all  that  she  had  not  given  up  the  hope  of  marrying  Monsieur  Enge- 
mann. He  was  not  to  blame,  poor  fellow!  How  could  he  help  it 
if  that  girl  had  thrown  herself  on  his  protection,  and  asked  him  to 
deliver  her  from  the  captain?  He  might  even  have  felt  obliged  to 
see  her  home.  "The  old  woman  has  pressed  her  too  hard,"  she 
said;  "she  is  a  commonplace  tyrant  without  any  tact,  and  the  girl 
in  despair  has  flung  herself  on  Monsieur  Engcmann's  protection." 

The  keen  torment  roused  by  this  idea  robbed  her  of  sleep,  but  she 


AT  THE    KED    GLOVE.  241 

tried  to  assure  herself  th.at  Rudolf  bad  gone  too  far  with  her  to 
draw  back.  "  lie  is  not  a  man  to  kiss  a  woman's  band,  and  to  look 
at  her  as  he  looked  at  me,  if  be  were  only  trifling.  No,  he  could 
not  trifle  vvitb  me;  he  is  too  true  and  simple,"  she  repeated  over 
and  over  again,  but  without  much  effect. 

Matters  looked  worse  this  morning.  '  She  bad  risen  early,  and 
dressed  herself  with  extra  care;  she  sent  word  to  Lenoir  she  did  not 
want  his  services :  she  was  really  afraid  of  his  keen  eyes.  Her  hope 
was  that  Rudolf  would  appear  earlier  than  usual;  but  be  bad  not 
even  come  to  breakfast,  and  he  was  already  due  at  the  bank.  Last 
night  she  bad  got  rid  of  her  anger  on  Madame  Bobineau  ;  now,  as 
she  waited,  her  color  began  to  return,  and  her  eyes,  in  spite  of  their 
heavy  lids,  looked  dangerous. 

"I  will  not  judge  him,"  she  kept  on  saying  vehemently  to  herself, 
"It  is  of  course  very  strange,  but  the  dear  fellow  may  have  reasons. 
I  will  not  say  anything  I  may  be  sorry  for  later  on." 

But  her  color  flickered  at  the  mere  sound  of  a  footstep,  and  at 
last  she  gave  up  the  figures  she  had  tried  to  add  up  as  hopeless,  and 
seated  herself  on  the  sofa  with  a  newspaper,  but  after  a  few  min- 
utes it  lay  upside  down  on  her  lap. 

Presently  Moritz  looked  in  at  the  window.  "Madame,  will  you 
see  Monsieur  Loigerot?" 

"By  all  means,"  she  said,  joyfully.  The  thought  came  that  Ru- 
dolf was  too  modest  to  plead  for  himself— the  captain  was  his  am- 
bassador. "  Good-morning  "—she  went  forward  and  shook  hands 
cordially,  when  Loigerot's  bald  bead  bowed  down  in  the  door-way. 
"You  are  early  this  morning,  monsieur." 

Then,  as  he  still  lingered  in  the  door-way,  she  pointed  to  a  chair 
near  the  sofa. 

The  captain  came  forward  slowly,  but  he  stood  before  her  instead 
of  sitting  down. 

"Pardon  me,  madame — aw — I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you 
privately;  that  is— aw— if  you  will  condescend  to  listen." 

He  looked  so  absurd,  so  nervous,  as  he  half  closed  his  eyes  and' 
tugged  at  bis  mustache,  that  the  widow  could  not  help  smiling. 

"With  the  greatest  pleasure,  monsieur,"  she  said,  in  her  most 
charming  way.     "  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  shut  the  door?" 

"  She  is  divine  to  look  at,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  but  I  believe  she's 
got  a  devil  of  a  temper.  Engemann  is  well  out  of  it,  and  I  wish  I 
was  well  out  of  it  too." 


242  AT   THE   EED    GLOYE. 

The  cai^taiu  felt  that  he  understood  the  widow,  but  he  also  felt 
that  he  did  not  understand  how  to  manage  her. 

"I  am  not  sure  about  the  pleasure,  madame,"  he  said,  nervously, 
"but  you  are  full  of  charity  and  sweetness — I  am  sure  you  are,  and 
— and  I  want  to  ask  you  to  do  an  act  of  charity.  I — I — "  He  felt 
stuck  here,  he  looked  at  her  helplessly. 

"A  charity,  monsieur?  Is  it  a  case  of  distress?  Yes,  indeed, 
monsieur,  you  may  count  on  me;  I  am  always  ready  to  help  distress. 
It  is  so  sad  to  let  others  go  on  suffering,"  she  said,  pathetically, 
"  when  we  have  the  means  of  helping  them."  She  was  disappointed; 
he  had  not  come,  then,  on  the  errand  she  hoped. 

Loigerot  had  gone  on  tugging  at  and  twisting  his  mustache,  and 
now  he  felt  that  the  widow  was  looking  keenly  at  him,  searching 
him  through  and  through.  Drops  started  out  on  his  forehead,  and 
his  tongue  felt  stiff  and  useless.  All  at  once  the  thought  of  Marie's 
white,  tear-stained  face  came  to  help  him. 

"  You  are  very  kind  and  quite  right,  madame,  and  I  have  a  case 
of  real  distress  to  lay  before  you  which  you  have  power  to  help.  I 
want  you  to  befriend  little  Marie  Pcyrolles— to  take  her  part  against 
Madame  Bobineau." 

Madame  Carouge's  face  grew  set,  and  her  eyes  looked  hard.  She 
shook  her  head. 

"Madame  Bobineau  is  the  child's  guardian,"  she  said,  repressive- 
ly.  "I  cannot  interfere."  She  began  to  feel  that  the  ground  was 
slipping  from  under  her  feet. 

"You  are  right  again,  madame,"  he  said,  pompously,  "perfectly 
right.  Madame  Bobineau  is  her  guardian;  but  she  is — well,  I  let 
her  off  easy  when  I^ay  she  is  a  bad,  treacherous  old  woman." 

Madame  Carouge  laughed.  "  No,  no,  monsieur;  you  are  too  hard 
on  the  poor  old  woman.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  you  have  been  misin- 
formed. I  cannot,  of  course,  speak  unfavorably  to  you  of  Made- 
moiselle Marie,  but  I  fear  she  is  prejudiced  against  her  kind  old 
cousin;  but  v.'hy  come  to  me,  monsieur?  surely  you  are  Marie's  best 
protector." 

"I!"  he  put  up  both  hands,  then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"Now  for  it,"  he  thought,  and  as  the  swimmer  shuts  his  eyes  and 
plunges  into  the  water,  he  dashed  on.  "  Pardon  me,  I  forgot,  ma- 
dame: there  is  still  something  to  be  explained  to  you.  That  old 
woman  has  deceived  the  poor  child  as  much  as  she  has  deceived  me. 
Luckily  I  made  a  discovery  last  night."    The  widow  hatl  put  her 


mMfm 


'■  MADAME,  I    THANK    YOl'." 


j 


AT  TUE   RED   GLOVE.  245 

hand  before  her  mouth  to  hide  a  yawn,  but  at  his  last  words  she  lis- 
tened attentively.  "  Yes,  madame,  a  discovery  which  will  perhaps 
surprise  you  as  much  as  it  surprised  me."  He  raised  his  hand  and 
pointed  a  fat  forefinger  at  the  widow.  "It  is  not  me  that  Made- 
moiselle Marie  wishes  to  marry;  it  is  Monsieur  Rudolf  Engemanu, 
and  I  have  given  her  up." 

Madame  Carougc  rose,  her  eyes  flashed  out  brightly  on  the  cap- 
tain, then  she  laughed,  but  the  laugh  vv'as  not  natural. 

"Nonsense!  You  have  been  listening  to  gossip,  monsieur;  you 
have  got  your  story  upside  down.  I  think  you  are  very  ungrateful 
to  talk  of  giving  up  the  little  girl  after  all  my  trouble  for  you.  As 
to  Monsieur  Eugemann,"  she  said,  derisively,  "I  happen  to  know 
on  good  authority  that  he — loves  some  one  else.  You  have  made  a 
very  foolish  mistake.  Captain  Loigerot." 

The  captain  reddened  at  the  scorn  in  her  voice. 

"I  have  made  no  mistake, "he  said,  roughly.  "  I  saw  and  judged 
for  myself. " 

"You  saw!"  she  said,  vehemently.  "What  are  you  talldng 
about?" 

He  raised  his  hand.  "Calm  yourself,  madame.  You  and  I  are 
older  than  these  young  people  are:  let  us  be  more  reasonable.  I 
have  given  up  my  hopes.  Will  the  '  some  one  else '  you  speak  of  be 
less  generous?"  She  turned  angrily  away  and  walked  across  the 
room.  The  captain  rubbed  his  hands — he  thought  this  had  been  a 
most  successful  manoeuvre;  he  followed  the  widow  as  she  walked. 
"  I  believe,"  he  said,  "that  Monsieur  Engemann  has  not  offered  him- 
self to  the  'some  one  else.'  Ah,  madame,  think  how  young  they 
are — they  are  well  matched — and  how  they  love  each  other."  He 
put  his  hand  on  her  arm.     "  Listen,  madame,  I  will  tell  you." 

She  turned  round  —  she  was  listening  eagerly  with  half -closed 
eyes.     "They  love  each  other.     Well,  monsieur?" 

Loigerot  felt  encouraged;  he  cleared  his  throat.  "Yes,  yes,  ma- 
dame; you  should  have  seen  them  together  when  I  found  them  last 
night  —  poor  love  -  birds  !  I  was  very  stern  at  first,  mind  you ;  I 
scolded  them  well ;  but  I  saw  I  must  give  in  to  the  force  of  circum- 
stances." Then  he  raised  himself  on  tiptoe,  and  whispered,  in  what 
he  meant  for  a  coaxing  tone,  "Surely  '  some  one  else '  does  not  want 
to  keep  a  man  who  loves  another  woman." 

The  captain  was  not  very  steady  on  tiptoe,  and  as  he  looked  up 


246  AT  THE    EED   GLOVE. 

earnestly  at  the  widow,  a  stinging  box  on  the  ear  nearly  sent  him  off 
his  legs. 

"Take  that  for  your  pains,  you  chattering  busybody!"  said  Ma- 
dame Carouge,  looking  splendid  in  her  fury,  as  she  Jowered  above 
the  astounded  man. 

"  TonnerreV  he  put  one  hand  to  his  ear,  and  the  other  to  where 
his  sword  used  to  hang.  Then  he  drew  himself  up  and  smiled. 
"Madame,  I  thank  you  for  the  lesson."  He  bowed.  "I  am  con- 
soled. Marie  is  only  a  kitten  at  present,  but  you — aw — you  have 
shown  me  what  she  might  have  grown  to.  Madame,  I — I  have  the 
honor  to  take  my  leave." 


THE  END. 


I 


I 


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Kittv 8vo,  Paper       35 

Peai-la 4to,  Paper       20 

ELIOT'S  (George)  Novels.    Library  Edition.    Iird.l2mo,  Cloth,  per  vol.  1  25 

Popular  Edition.     Illustrated 12mo,  Cloth,  per  vol.       75 

Adam  Bede. — Daniel  Deronda,  2  vols.— Felix  Holt,  the  Radical. — 
Middlemarch,  2  vols. — Romola. — Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,  and 
Silas  Marner. — The  Mill  on  the  Floss. 


Harper  <£•  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


PEIOB 

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The  Mill  on  the  Floss Svo,  Paper  50 

FARJEON'S  An  Island  Pearl.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  30 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Silver  Flagon Svo,  Paper  25 

Blade-o'-Grass.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  30 

Bread-and-Cheese  and  Kisses.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  35 

Golden  Grain.     Illustrated Svo,  Paper  35 

Grif Svo,  Cloth  85 

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By  Mead  and  Stream 4to,  Paper  20 

For  Lack  of  Gold Svo,  Paper  35 

For  the  King Svo,  Paper  30 

Heart's  Delight 4to,  Paper  — 

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Robin  Gray Svo,  Paper  35 

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The  Golden  Shaft 4to,  Paper  20 

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Harper  <£•  Brothers^  Popular  Novels. 


,  VBtOK 

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Harper  <£•  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


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Matrimony 4to,  Paper  20 

Ko  New  Thing 4to,  Paper  25 

That  Terrible  Man 

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Harper  d:  Brothers^  Popular  Novels, 


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Within  the  Precincts 4to,  Paper 

Young  Musgrave 8vo,  Paper 

PAYN'S  (James)  A  Beggar  on  Horsebaclc 8vo,  Paper 

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At  Her  Mercv Svo,  Paper 

Bred  in  the  IJone 8vo,  Paper 

By  Proxy 8vo,  Paper 

Cariyon's  Year, 8vo,  Paper 

For  Cash  Only  ,.,,. 4to,  Paper 

Found  Dead 8vo,  Paper 

From  Exile 4to,  Paper 

Gwendoline's  Harvest 8vo,  Paper 

Halves 8vo,  Paper 

High  Spirits..,,. 4to,  Paper 

Kit.     Illustrated,,.., 4to,  Paper 

Less  Black  than  We're  Painted 8vo,  Paper 

Murphy's  Master Svo,  Paper 

One  of  the  Family 8vo,  Paper 

The  Best  of  Husbands 8vo,  Paper 

The  Canon's  Ward.     Illustrated 4to,  Paper 

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EEADE'S  Novels :  Household  Edition 
A  Simpleton  and  Wandering  Heir. 
A  Terrible  Temptation. 
A  Woman-Hater. 
Foul  Play, 
Good  Stories. 
Griffith  Gaunt. 
Hard  Cash. 


lU'd 12mo,  Cloth,  per  vol. 

It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 
Love  me  Little,  Love  me  Long. 
Peg  Woffington,  Christie  John- 
stone, &c. 
Put  Yourself  in  His  Place. 
The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 
White  Lies. 


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10  Harper  &  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


READE'S  (Charles)  Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long 8vo,  Taper  $  3u 

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Harper  c&  Brothers'  Popular  Novels.  11 


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12  Harper  <S:  Brothers'  Popular  Novels. 


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Mortality ;  "^The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian ;  A  Legend  of  Montrose ; 
The  Bride  of  Lammermoor ;  The  Black  Dwarf;  Ivanhoe;  The 
Monastery;  The  Abbot;  Kenilworth  ;  The  Pirate;  The  Fortunes 
of  Nigel;  Peveril  of  the  Peak;  Quentin  Durward;  St.  Ronan's 
Well  ;"Redgauntlet ;  The  Betrothed ;  The  Talisman ;  Woodstock ; 
Chronicles  of  the  Canongate,  The  Highland  Widow,  &e. ;  The 
Fair  Maid  of  Perth ;  Anne  of  Geierstein ;  Count  Robert  of  Paris ; 
Castle  Dangerous ;  The  Surgeon's  Daughter ;  Glossary. 

WOOLSON'S  (C.  F.)  Anne.     Illustrated  by  Reinhart 16mo,  Cloth$l  25 

For  the  Major.     Illustrated ..16mo,  Cloth    1  00 

YATES'S  (Edmund)  Black  Sheep 8 vo,  Paper      40 

Dr.  Wainwright's  Patient 8vo,  Paper       30 

Kissing  the  Rod 8 vo.  Paper       40 

Land  at  Last 8vo,  Paper       40 

Wrecked  in  Port 8vo,  Paper       35 


WHAT  SOCIAL  CLASSES  GAVE  TO 
EACH  OTHER. 

By  "William  Graham  Sumner,  Professor  of  Political  and  So- 
cial Science  in  Yale  College.     16mo,  Cloth,  CO  cents.  « 

There  is  no  pngc  of  the  book  that  is  not  weighty  -with  meaning. 
The  argument  that  runs  through  it  is  like  a  chain,  strongly  \vel<l- 
ed,  link  on  to  link.  *  *  *  Prof.  Sumner  gives  clear,  pointed,  and 
powerful  utterance  to  nnich  social  and  political  wisdom.  Tho 
teaching  of  the  book  is  just  of  that  sort  which  is  most  needed  by 
the  young  America  of  to-day. — Boston  CommomveaJth. 

The  conclusions  he  reaches  are  substantially  unanswerable.  *  *  * 
No  more  important  doctrine  than  this  can  well  be  proclaimed,  and 
our  country  owes  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  whoever  will  proclaim 
it  in  the  sturdy  style  of  this  book.  Wo  need  not  despair  of  tho 
Kepublic  while  our  young  men  are  fed  upon  such  meat  as  tliis. 
Whether  they  adopt  his  conclusions  or  not,  they  cannot  fail  to  bo 
stimulated  by  his  reasoning. — The  Nation,  N.  Y. 

Prof.  Sumner  has  selected  a  subject  of  great  interest  and  impor- 
tance, and  has  treated  it  with  ingenuity,  penetration,  and  original- 
ity, and  in  a  plain,  homely,  puugeul^aud  eficctive  style. — Brookhjn 
Union. 

His  little  book  is  full  of  excellent  m.axims  of  conduct  formed  on 
the  manly  priuciple  of  doing  hard  work  and  letting  everybody 
have  a  fair  chance.  *  *  *  These  eleven  short  chapters  are  undoubt- 
edly the  ablest  of  recent  contributions  to  matters  on  which  much 
unprofitable  ink  is  spent. — N.  T.  Times. 

This  volume  contains  a  most  instructive  discussion  of  certain 
economic  questions  which  are  of  living  interest  touching  upon  tho 
duties  of  tho  State  to  classes  or  individuals  embraced  in  it. — Boston 
Glohe. 

The  style  is  bright  and  racy,  and  tho  argument  is  allowed  to  lose 
none  of  its  force  by  the  use  of  technical  terras.  The  book  is  sug- 
gestive, and  will  be  found  helpful  to  those  who  desire  to  reach  cor- 
rect conclusious  on  subjects  of  practical  importance. — Christian  at 
Work,  N.  Y. 

Prof.  Sumner  has  enforced  in  very  few  and  very  simple  Avords 
some  of  the  most  important  and  most  neglected  principles  of  polit- 
ical and  social  economy  ;  has  exposed,  with  temperate  but  none  the 
less  telling  sarcasm,  the  most  absurd  but  not  least  popular  crotchets 
of  modern  iihilanthropic  enthusiasm. — Saturday  Review,  London. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

UARrcB  &  Brothbrb  will  send  the  above  icork  hy  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
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HOME  STUDIES  liN  NATURE. 

Br  Maky  Treat,  Author  of  "  Chapters  on  Ants,"  etc.     Ilkis- 
tratcd.     pp.  244.     12ino,  Ornamental  Cloth,  $1  50. 

Mrs.  Treat  roams  through  the  fields  in  search  of  rare  knowledge  about 
bh-ds,  wasps,  spiders,  and  those  wonderful  plants  that  entrap  insects  and 
thrive  on  their  juices.  Her  originality  in  these  researches  is  undoubted, 
and  she  adds  a  great  deal  to  our  stock  of  facts  for  use  in  the  interpreta- 
tion of  nature.  Slie  has  a  pleasant  style,  and  a  winning  knack  of  making 
disagreeable  things  seem  otherwise.  The  pictures  are  many  and  good. — 
lY.  V.  Journal  of  Commerce. 

A  worthy  tribute  from  a  lover  of  nature  to  the  animated  world  about 
her.  It  treats  of  birds,  insects,  plants  that  consume  animals,  and  flowering 
plants.  It  has  nearly  seventy  handsome  illustrations,  and  the  story  is  told 
in  fascinating  and  clearly-e.xpressed  language.  It  is  an  admirable  work 
with  which  to  educate  a  family. — Boston  Commonwealth. 

To  those  who  have  given  attention  to  the  beauties  of  nature  as  devel- 
oped in  the  winged  world  and  the  insect  and  floral  branches,  this  little 
volume  will  be  peculiarly  grateful. — Albany  Press. 

Books  on  this  subject  are  generally  regarded  by  every  one  not  profes- 
sional scientists  as  dreadful  bores.  An  exception  must  be  made,  Iiowever, 
in  favor  of  Mrs,  Mary  Treat's  "  Home  Studies  in  Nature."  The  only 
echoes  of  science  between  the  two  covers  are  the  Latin  names  of  birds, 
insects,  and  plants ;  all  else  are  jnost  curious  and  readable  accounts  of 
the  doings  of  some  creatures  so  tiny  that  they  freciucntly  are  near  us,  and 
watching  us,  when  we  imagine  ourse"lvcs  alone.  *  *  *  This  would  be  a  capi- 
tal book  to  give  a  bright-eyed  boy  or  girl  who  comitlains  that  about  home 
"  there  is  nothing  to  look  at."  Adults,  however  will  also  enjoy  the  volume, 
and  may  make  their  eyesight  keener  by  reading  it. — N'.  Y.  Herald. 

The  public  should  feel  glad  that  occasionally  a  man  or  a  woman  finds 
highest  pleasure  in  studying  the  ways  and  habits  of  nature,  and  publishing 
the  result  of  such  study  to  the  world.  Tliis  is  wliat  Mrs.  Treat  has  done. 
*  *  *  Her  book  is  divided  into  four  parts — observations  on  birds,  habits  of 
insects,  plants  that  consume  animals,  and  flowering  plants.  It  is,  moreover, 
helped  by  nearly  seventy  illustrations,  which  in  a  work  of  this  character 
are  of  material  assistance ;  for  tlie  great  majority  of  readers  are  unfamil- 
iar with  the  appearance  of  the  birds,  flowers,  and  insects,  the  habits  of 
which  are  described.  The  author  shows  herself  to  be  a  keen,  cons.-ien- 
tious,  and  affectionate  observer. — N.  Y.  Telegram. 

Mrs.  Treat  can  always  command  a  delightful  audience ;  for  next  to  the 
pleasure  of  searching  fields,  woods,  and  streams  for  the  beautiful  or  curi- 
ous, it  is  charming  to  hear  from  so  close  an  observer  so  much  that  is  in- 
teresting and  new,  especially  when  all  is  told  with  vivacity  and  genuine 
enthusiasm.  *  *  *  Tlie  volume  is  finely  illustrated,  and  its  contents  cannot 
fail  to  entertain  the  reader,  young  or  old,  who  has  learned,  or  is  learning, 
about  the  busy  world  out-of-doors. —  Worcester  Daily  Sj>y. 


Published  by  HARPER   &   BROTHERS,  New  York. 

IW  The  above  icork  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  Sitatea 
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AMEPdCAN  POLITICAL  IDEAS, 

Viewed  from  the  Standpoint  of  Universal  History.     By  John 
P'iSKE.     pp.158.      12mo,  Clotli,  $1  00. 

Mr.  Fiske  is  one  of  the  few  Americans  who  is  able  to  exercise 
a  dispassionate  judgment  npon  qnestious  which  have  heeu  the 
canso  of  quarrels  between  parties  and  sections.  Mr.  Fiske  has  a 
calm  way  of  considering  our  modern  ideas  from  the  standpoint 
of  universal  history'. — ^Y.  Y.  Journal  of  Comvmre. 

We  know  of  no  treatise  concerning  American  history  which  is 
likely  to  exercise  larger  or  better  influence  in  leading  Americans  to 
read  between  the  lines  of  our  country's  aunals.  *  *  *  The  little 
book  is  so  direct  and  simple  in  tlie  manner  of  its  presentation  of 
truth,  so  attractive  in  substance,  that  its  circulation  is  likely  to 
bo  wide.  Its  appeal  is  as  directly  to  the  farmer  or  mechanic  as 
to  the  philosophic  student  of  politics  or  history. — JV.  T.  Commercial 
Advertiser. 

TLere  is  not  a  line  in  the  entire  work  which  is  not  laden  with 
the  ri<;hest  fruits  of  a  trained  and  powerful  intellect. — Commercial 
Bulletin,  IJoston. 

When  Mr.  Fiske  comes  to  discuss  American  history  by  the  com- 
parative method,  he  enters  a  field  of  special  and  vital  interest  to 
all  who  have  ever  taken  up  this  method  of  study.  Our  hi.-tory,  as 
tlie  author  says,  when  viewed  in  this  broad  and  yet  impartial  way, 
acquires  a  new  dignity.  There  is  no  need  to  say  that  Mr.  Fiske's 
pages  are  worthy  of  the  most  careful  study. — Brooldyn  Union. 

From  tliis  point  of  view  the  consideration  of  the  political  ideas 
of  this  country  becomes  something  more  than  a  mere  study  of 
history;  it  constitutes  a  page  of  philosophy,  a  social  study  of  the 
most  transcendant  importance.  Such  is  the  spirit  with  which 
Prof.  Fiske  handles  his  subject.  He  shows  how  our  institutions 
have  grown  and  developed  from  the  past,  how  they  have  a  linn 
basis  in  nature,  and  how  they  must  develop  in  the  future.  The 
lectures  are  important  reading;  they  are  also  pleasant  reading,  for 
the  literary  style  of  Prof.  Fiske  is  exceptionally  pure,  clear,  and 
graceful. — Boston  Gazette. 

A  volume  of  great  interest,  and  illustrates  very  happily  some  of 
the  fundamental  ideas  of  American  politics  by  setting  forth  their 
relations  to  the  general  history  of  mankind.  *  *  *  We  heartily 
commend  this  little  volume  to  such  of  our  readers  as  desire  to  en- 
large their  ideas  and  views  of  the  political  principles  underlying  the 
foundations  of  onr  system  of  government. — Christian  at  Work,  N.  Y. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  Youk. 

r^"  IIakpkk  &  BiioTiiKRS  ivill  send  the  above  work  hij  mail,  pontage  prejiaid,  to  any 
part  of  the  United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


FLY-PtODS  AND  FLY-TACKLE. 

Suggestions  as  to  their  Manufacture  and  Use.  By  IIexry 
P.  Wells.  Illustrated,  jip,  364.  Post  8vo,  Illumi- 
nated Cloth,  $2  50. 

Mr.  Wells  has  devoted  more  time  and  attention  to  the  materials  used  in 
fly-fishing  than  any  person  we  know  of,  and  his  experience  is  well  set  forth 
in  this  most  valuable  book.  *  *  *  The  author  is  an  amateur  rod-maker  who 
has  experimented  with  every  wood  known  to  rod  manufacturers,  as  well  as 
with  some  that  are  not  known  to  them,  and  therefore  he  is  an  undoubted 
authority  on  the  subject.  This  chapter  and  the  one  following,  which  gives 
directions  in  rod-making,  forms  the  most  perfect  treatise  on  rods  extant. 
*  *  *  Tiie  book  is  one  of  great  value,  and  will  take  its  place  as  a  standard 
authority  on  all  points  of  which  it  treats,  and  we  cannot  commend  it  too 
highly. — Forest  and  IStream,  N.  Y. 

Since  Izaak  Walton  lingered  over  themes  piscatorial,  we  have  learned  to 
expect,  in  all  essays  on  the  gentle  art  of  angling,  a  certain  daintiness  and 
elegance  of  literary  form  as  well  as  technical  utility.  Publisher  and  author 
have  co-operated  to  meet  these  traditional  requirements  in  "Fly-Rods  and 
Fly-Tackle."  *  *  *  Mr.  Wells's  competence  to  expound  the  somewhat  in- 
tricate principles  and  delicate  processes  of  fly-fishing  will  be  plain  to  any 
reader  who  himself  has  some  practical  acriuaintance  with  the  art  discussed. 
The  value  of  the  author's  instructions  and  suggestions  is  signally  enhanced 
by  their  minuteness  and  lucidity. — N.  Y.  Sim.. 

A  complete  manual  for  the  ambitious  lover  of  fishing  for  trout.  *  *  *  All 
lovers  of  fly-fishing  should  have  Mr.  Wells's  book  in  their  outfit  for  the 
sport  that  is  near  at  hand. — PhUadcIplda  BuUetin. 

An  illustrated  volume,  elegantly  presented,  tiiat  will  make  all  anglers 
jealous  of  possession  until  upon  their  shelf  or  centre-table.  It  is  a  book 
of  suggestion  as  to  the  manufacture  and  use  of  all  kinds  of  fishing-appa- 
ratus.—  Boston  Conunonvrealth. 

Mr.  Wells  reveals  to  us  the  mysteries  of  lines,  leaders,  and  reels,  rods, 
rod  material,  and  rod-making.  He  lets  us  into  the  secret  of  making  re- 
pairs, and  gives  all  due  directions  for  casting  the  fly.  *  *  *  Moreover,  Mr. 
Wells  writes  in  an  attractive  style.  There  is  a  certain  charm  in  the  heart- 
iness and  grace  wherewith  he  expresses  his  appreciation  of  those  beauties 
of  nature  which  the  angler  has  so  uiditnited  an  opportunity  of  enjoying. 
Thus  what  may  be  called  not  only  a  technical,  Ijut  also  a  scientific,  knowl- 
edge of  his  subject  is  combined  with  a  keen  delight  in  hill,  stream,  and  for- 
est for  the  sake  of  the  varied  loveliness  tliey  display. — N.  Y.  Telegram. 

A  book  of  practical  hints  about  the  manufacture  and  use  of  anglers' 
gear.  Fish-hooks,  lines,  leaders,  rods  and  rod-making,  repairs,  flies  and 
fly-fishing,  are  among  the  important  subjects  discussed  with  great  fulness. 
The  essay  on  "Casting  the  Fly"  and  "Miscellaneous  Suggestions"  are 
rich  in  points  for  beginners.  It  is  to  the  latter,  and  not  to  the  experts, 
that  Mr.  Wells  modestly  dedicates  his  work.  His  object  is  to  supply  pre- 
cisely the  kind  of  information  of  which  he  stood  so  much  in  need  during 
bis  own  novitiate. — N.  Y.  Journal  of  Commerce. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  15R0THERS,  New  York. 

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CHARLES  NORDllOFF'S  WORKS. 


POLITICS  FOR  YOUNG  AMERICANS.  By  Charles  Nordhoff  16mo, 
Half  Leather,  75  cents  ;  Paper,  40  cents. 

It  18  a  book  that  should  be  iu  the  hnnd  of  every  American  boy  ancl  girl,  This 
book  of  Mr.  Nordhoff's  might  be  learned  by  heart.  Each  word  has  its  value; 
each  enumerated  section  has  its  pith.  It  is  a  complete  system  of  political  science, 
economical  and  other,  aa  applied  to  our  American  system.— A'.  Y.  Herald. 

CALIFORNIA :  A  Book  for  Travellers  and  Settlers.  By  Charles  Nord- 
hoff. A  New  Edition.  With  Maps  and  Illustrations.  8vo,  Cloth, 
$2  00. 

Mr.  Nordhoff's  plan  is  to  see  what  is  curious,  important,  and  tvne,  and  then  to 
tell  it  in  the  simplest  manner.  Herodotus  is  evidently  his  prototype.  Strong 
sense,  a  Doric  truthfulness,  and  a  very  earnest  contempt  for  anything  like  pre- 
tensi(m  or  sensationalism,  and  an  enthusiasm  none  the  less  agreeable  because 
straitened  in  its  expression,  are  his  qualities. — X  Y.  Evening  Post. 

THE  COMMUNISTIC  SOCIETIES  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES;  from 
Personal  Visit  and  Observation :  including  Detailed  Accounts  of  the 
Economists,  Zoarites,  Shakers ;  the  Amana,  Oneida,  Bethel,  Aurora, 
Icarian,  and  other  Existing  Societies;  their  Religious  Creeds,  Social 
Practices,  Numbers,  Industries,  and  Present  Condition.  By  Charle.'? 
Nordhoff.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

Mr.  Nordhoff  has  derived  his  materials  from  personal  observation,  having  vis- 
ited the  principal  Communistic  societies  in  the  United  States,  and  taken  diligent 
note  of  the  peculiar  features  of  their  religious  creed  and  practices,  their  social  and 
domestic  customs,  and  their  industrial  and  tinancial  arransrements.  *  *  *  With  his 
exceptionally  keen  jiowers  of  perception,  and  his  habits  of  practised  observation, 
he  could  not  engage  in  such  an  inquiry  without  amassing  a  fund  of  curious 
information.  In  stating  the  results  of  his  investigations,  he  writes  with  exem- 
plary candor  and  impartinlity,  though  not  without  the  exercise  of  just  and  souud 
discrimination. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

CAPE  COD  AND  ALL  ALONG  SHORE :  STORIES.  By  Charles  Nord- 
hoff.    12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50;  4to,  Paper,  15  cents. 

Light,  clever,  well-vvritlen  sketches. — .V.  Y.  Timen. 

A  lively  and  agreeable  volume,  full  of  humor  and  incident.— Bostow  Transcript. 

GOD  AND  THE  FUTURE  LIFE.  The  Reasonableness  of  Christianity. 
By  Charles  Nordhoff.     ]6mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

Mr.  Nordhoff's  object  is  not  bo  mnch  to  present  a  religious  system  as  to  give 
practical  and  sufficient  reasons  for  every-day  beliefs.  He  writes  strongly,  clearly, 
and  in  the  vein  that  the  people  understand. — Boston  Herald. 


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ty  Harpep.  &  Brotuees  will  send  the  above  works  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
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It  surpasses  all  its  jn'cdecessors. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 


A  Dictionary  of  tlie  English  Language,  Pronouncing,  Etymological, 
and  Explanatory,  Embracing  Scientific  and  Other  Terms,  Numer- 
ous Familiar  Terms,  and  a  Copious  Selection  of  Old  English 
Words.  By  the  Rev.  James  Stormontii.  The  Pronunciation 
Carefully  Revised  by  the  Rev.  P.  H.  Piielp,  M.A.  pp.  1248. 
4to,  Cloth,  $6  00;  Half  Roan,  $7  00;  Sheep,  $7  50. 

Also  in  Harper's  Franklin  Square  Library,  in  Twenty- 
three  Parts.  4to,  Paper,  25  cents  each  Part.  Muslin  covers  for 
binding  supplied  by  the  publishers  on  receipt  of  50  cents. 

As  resards  thoroughness  of  etymological  research  and  breadth  of  modern  inchision, 
Stormonlh's  new  dictionary  surpasses  all  its  predeces-sors.  *  *  *  In  fact.  Stormonth's 
Dictionary  possesses  merits  so  many  and  conspicuous  that  it  can  hardly  fail  to  estab- 
lish itself  as  a  standard  and  a  nivorile.  — X  1'.  Tribune. 

This  may  serve  in  great  measure  the  purposes  of  an  English  cyclopa;dia.  It  gives 
lucid  and  succinct  dclinitions  of  the  technical  terms  in  science  and  art,  in  law  and 
medicine.  We  have  the  explanation  of  words  and  phrases  that  puzzle  most  people, 
showing  wonderfully  comprehensive  and  out  of  the- way  research.  We  need  only  add 
that  the  Dictionary  appears  in  all  its  departments  to  have  been  brought  down  to  meet 
the  latest  demands  of  the  day,  and  that  it  is  admirably  pr'mlcd— Times,  London. 

A  most  valuable  addition  to  the  library  of  the  scholar  and  of  the  general  reader. 
It  can  have  for  the  present  no  possible  r'wal.—Jioston  I'ost. 

It  has  the  bones  and  sinews  of  the  grand  dictionary  of  the  future.  *  *  *  An  invalu- 
able library  book. — Ecclesiastical  Gazette,  London. 

A  work  which  is  certainly  without  a  rival,  all  things  considered,  among  the  dic- 
tionaries of  our  language.  Tlie  peculiarity  of  the  work  is  that  it  is  equally  well  adapt- 
ed to  the  uses  of  the  man  of  business,  who  demands  compactness  and  ease  of  reference, 
and  to  those  of  the  most  exigent  scholar.— X  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

As  compared  with  our  standard  dictionaries,  it  is  better  in  type,  richer  in  its  vocab- 
ulary, and  happier  in  arrangement.  Its  system  of  grouping  is  admirable.  *  *  *  He 
who  possesses  this  dictionary  will  enjoy  and  use  it,  and  its  bulk  is  not  so  great  as  to 
make  use  of  it  a  terror. — Christian  Ailvocate,  N.  Y. 

A  well  i)lannod  and  carefully  executed  work,  which  has  decided  merits  of  its  own, 
and  for  which  there  is  a  place  not  filled  bv  anv  of  its  rivals.— A".  Y.  f!un. 

A  work  of  storing  value.  It  has  received  from  all  quarters  the  highest  commenda- 
tion.— Lutheran  Observer.  Philadelphia. 

A  trustworthy,  truly  scholarly  dictionary  of  our  English  language.— CTns^iajj  Intel- 
ligencer, N.  Y. 

The  issue  of  .Stormonth's  great  English  dictionary  is  meeting  with  a  hearty  wel- 
come everywhere. — Boston  Transcript. 

A  critical  and  accurate  dictionary,  the  embodiment  of  good  scholarship  and  the 
result  of  modern  researches.  Compression  and  cleurne.ss  are  its  external  evidences, 
and  it  olfers  a  favorable  comparison  with  the  best  dictionaries  in  use,  while  it  holds  an 
unrivalled  place  in  bringing  forth  the  result  of  modern  philological  criticism.— Zioi<on 
Journal.  .         ,,    ,    • 

Full,  complete,  and  accurate,  including  all  the  latest  words,  and  giving  all  their 
derivatives  and  correlatives.  The  definitions  are  short,  but  plain,  the  method  of  mak- 
ing pronunciation  very  simple,  and  the  arrangement  such  as  to  give  the  best  results 
in  the  smallest  space. — Philadelphia  Inquirer. 


Published  by  HARPEPt  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

jB®"  Harper  &  Brothers  will  send  the  above  work  hy  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
part  of  the  United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last 
dale  stamped  below. 


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